


28ink

by patentlyhazel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Famous Harry Styles, Fluff and Smut, M/M, MMA Fighter Liam Payne, Radio Host Niall Horan, Recreational Drug Use, Tattoo Artist Louis Tomlinson, Tattoo Artist Zayn Malik, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27610166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patentlyhazel/pseuds/patentlyhazel
Summary: Now-famous singer, Harry Styles, moves back home after five years in America and is happy to reunite with his two best childhood friends—Niall Horan and Liam Payne. Niall, now a well-known sports radio host, along with Liam, an up-and-coming MMA fighter, are thrilled to welcome the rising popstar back to London. The trio find themselves at 28ink on Harry's first night back in town where they meet resident tattoo artists, Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik. Sparks instantly fly between Harry and Louis, so no one is surprised when a flame begins to flicker and burn.Follow along as Harry tries to fall in love in the public eye, Louis struggles to play nice with Harry's management, Liam fights his way to the top, Zayn resists falling for a jock, and Niall just keeps entertaining himself by narrating his friends' lives on the airwaves.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 14
Kudos: 83





	1. Intro & Photos

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm super new to the fandom... As in, I only started reading fics after getting a request from a friend to write this one. But I'm here now, I'm invested, and I've got a whole frickin' boatload of new reading material (and I'm all about that). Happy belated birthday, T :) This one's for you!

This will mostly be told in written chapters, with a few Instagram "screenshots" because I'm a sucker for visuals.

**Important Photo Note (For Entire Story):**   
_All of Louis's posted tattoos were/will be created by artist Liam Sparkes._   
_All of Zayn's posted tattoos were/will be created by artist Louis Molloy._


	2. one

"No, Li, it's really for good. Management says I'm established enough that I can write and record from home now. They don't need me with their people over here!" Harry Styles spoke into the phone while he listened to his best friend's disbelief over his exciting news.

Harry had only just gotten home from a meeting with his record label where they'd let him know he could finally return to London if he wanted. When he'd signed with them almost five years prior, part of his contract stated that he'd have to move to Los Angeles so he could work regularly with the label's producers, coaches, and publicists. At the time, Harry'd been bright eyed and eager for any opportunity to make the music he desperately wanted to make, but he couldn't deny that he'd grown quite homesick as the years passed.

He'd finally put his foot down a few months earlier and had begged his manager to allow him at least a half-year off to visit England as it was almost more painful to say goodbye to his friends and family after a few weeks worth of a visit than it was to not see them for months at a time. He'd finished writing his second album and had wrapped up his first major international tour through both North America and Europe where he opened for Ed Sheeran, so he felt like he deserved the vacation.

Thankfully his manager had agreed and took up the request with the label. While they weren't as receptive to the idea of one of their fastest rising artists taking six months off, they did agree that he'd be able to continue his growth with one of their sister labels based in London and had given Harry the good news that morning. Buzzing with excitement, the first thing he'd done when he'd returned to his apartment was try to phone up his best friends. Liam had been the first to answer and had quickly told the singer to stop kidding when he'd heard the news that Harry was moving back home.

"You're really not joking? H, this is great! But God, Ni's going to be a proper case until you get here. Have you told him yet?"

"No, he hasn't replied so I'm guessing he's on the air. I didn't even look at the time. I've been too—" Harry broke off as he tried to find the right words to sum up his excitement. "I just can't wait to be back. For good."

"When are you getting here? Have you sorted that out yet?" Harry could hear Liam's grin through his words.

"As soon as possible. Everything's just been wrapping up here, so I was planning on booking a visit in the next few weeks anyways. I've only got a few meetings left and then I'm free to leave once I get everything in order."

"Well let us know when, yeah? We'll want to see you as soon as you're off the plane so plan on us picking you up. And you're welcome to stay at mine for a while if you want to wait to look for flats until you get here. I'm sure Niall would say the same."

Liam was correct, of course, when Harry had finally gotten a hold of the Irishman a while later, though the offer wasn't extended until after the blonde dialled Liam in and had shouted at them for talking about Harry's exciting news without him.

"You both owe me a round, I'll have you know. I'm wounded! You've wounded me!" Despite trying to sound cross, Harry could still hear the happiness in his best friend's voice.

"Sorry, Ni, but to be fair I _did_ text you both at the same time! It's not my fault Liam responded before you, and I was too excited to not say anything," Harry laughed as he tried to soothe his overdramatic friend.

"Right, right. Well if I don't get the first hug when we see you, I'm finding myself a new pair of best mates."

"Fair play, Nialler," Liam responded with Harry quickly agreeing.

The three continued to talk well into the night for both Liam and Niall, and by the time they'd hung up, even Harry was beginning to feel tired. He'd managed to book a flight while on the line and they'd been making loads of plans now that a date had been set.

As Harry looked around the bedroom one last time before drifting off, he didn't feel any of the bittersweet tugs to his heart that he'd experienced the last time he'd moved cities. Rather, he felt nothing but happiness as he counted the hours and days until his flight instead of sheep.

A few hours after his flight had landed, both Harry and Niall were well on their way to pissed. Liam, not one for excessive drinking while in training, was currently escorting his two friends away from the busy pub in search of a place a bit more quiet where they'd be able to catch up without interruption. Harry had gotten used to it in California, but neither Liam nor Niall were aware of just how many people would be asking for photos or autographs when the blonde had suggested a popular bar near the city center. On the plus side, they'd gotten quite a few free drinks from fans trying to buy a few extra moments with the singer, no matter how many times Harry tried to tell them it wasn't necessary.

"Who even are you, H," Liam said as he landed a soft punch to the younger boy's shoulder. "They're all looking at you like you're Christ himself, talking about how you saved their lives and whatnot. Is it always like that? How's your head not the size of the moon?"

"Sod off, Li. You know me," Harry protested, leaning close to the muscled fighter and ducking under his arm so he could cuddle up against the night's chill. "I'm still the same Harry."

"Really, though, H," Niall said, turning so he was walking backwards a few paces ahead of his two friends. "Did you ever think it was going to be like this? That you'd be this famous?"

"I'm not, though. I mean, I'm not naive—I know I'm famous. But this is also London, right? It's just because I'm local. I'm no Beyonce or Gaga or anything. I'm still just Harry from Cheshire, just a little more grown up and a bit more well known."

Liam reached out and wrapped his other arm around Niall's shoulder as he steered the boys around a corner.

"Besides, you're famous too. Yeah, Niall? Verified on Twitter and everything."

"You know it's not the same, H. You're out here inspiring people, saving lives and helping people cope. I just talk shit about sports for the BBC."

"It's more than that, Nialler. I don't follow sport and your show still cracks me up. You make people smile every day, and you even said they've been talking about giving you your own podcast!"

"Stop trying to distract, mate. We're talking about you, here," the blonde said. "How do you feel about all of this? Any regrets?"

Harry was quiet for a moment.

"I s'pose it's all been a bit transformative, really. I feel like I'm finally understanding who I am—like, I have all of these thoughts and feelings and words that I can finally get out. And I'm thankful for that. I really am."

"Transformative," Niall said with a giggle. "Our little H is like a butterfly, right, Li?"

Harry grinned drunkenly at his friend as the boxer in between them sighed and chuckled.

"A butterfly. Really, Ni?" But Harry quickly interjected.

"No, he's right! The butterfly is perfect. I've still got all of my Harry caterpillar guts, but now I've got a proper set of wings that finally show the real me. Flying, freedom, and all that," he exclaimed happily. Sadly, the sentiment was lost as Niall dissolved into a fit of laughter.

"' _Harry caterpillar guts_ ,'" he giggled. "Really? All of your poetic lyrics and that's the shite you come up with?"

"Shut it," Harry said with a pout. "I'm drunk. It's not my best work, but I know what I mean!"

As they waited for Niall to catch his breath from the side stitches, Harry spotted a glowing sign in the distance. It was flickering, and one of the letters had burnt out, but he could clearly tell what the "attoo" indicated and quickly pointed it out.

"That's where we're going," he said determinately. "I want to get a tattoo of a butterfly. Tonight."

"No way, H," Liam said as he tried to grip the back of Harry's shirt to keep him from heading towards the shop. "You're way too drunk to make a permanent decision like that and I'm not going to let you do something you'll regret."

"I'm not that drunk, Liam. I know what I'm doing and I know what I want. This is important! It's a revelation!"

"Shit," the sober man grumbled as Harry wriggled out of his grasp and began wobbling down the sidewalk. "Come on, Ni, we've got to get him."

"Carry me, Li? I'm tired," the boy whinged.

"Christ, alright. Hop on." Liam bent down and allowed Niall to scramble up for a piggyback ride. Together, they took off after Harry, catching up just in time as the singer stepped into the tattoo shop they could now see was called _28ink_.

The bell on the door rang as the trio walked in. Louis, who was sitting behind the front counter sketching up new flash designs, looked up at the late night customers. With it being only about a half hour until closing, Louis wasn't surprised to hear Zayn's annoyed groan. Though most of their customers at this hour were usually only looking for a quick, spur-of-the-moment tattoo that they could post to Instagram—"#spontaneous"—it would still have them there for longer than they cared to be. And the tips were never worth the overtime.

"Your shop, your job," Zayn muttered, kicking against the leg of Louis's stool and turning his back to the entrance.

Recognition crossed Louis's features as he stood and made his way around the desk to greet them. He'd seen Harry's face in enough of the music magazines that they bought for their lobby to know who the lad was.

What he didn't expect was to notice quite how fit the singer was with his mess of windswept hair, glassy eyes, and dimpled grin. He stood a bit taller than Louis—which, to be honest, most people did—but his posture was more timid than Louis would've expected for someone who had crowds of teen girls shouting his name on a regular basis. He was more relaxed than he seemed in the photos, though, and looked entirely more real without all of the airbrushing and retouching that Louis had gotten used to in _Billboard_ and _NME_.

"Well I never thought I'd see the likes of you in a shop like this. You're pretty famous to be wandering 'round this side of town, yeah?"

"And you're just pretty," Harry responded, his already rosy cheeks flushing the slightest bit more at his instinctively blurted retort, especially once he'd caught the scoffing look the dark-haired man shot him from over the shoulder of his coworker. Harry couldn't help it, though. He was a bit of a sucker for blue eyes and the artist talking to him had irises that held the depths of the ocean.

"Alright, love?" Louis snorted at the clearly drunk pop star standing in the entrance, watching as he swayed in a nonexistent breeze.

"I want a tattoo."

"Figured as much—most people don't come in here looking for a cuppa. But I don't tattoo anyone drunk so you're out of luck I'm afraid." The artist crossed his arms against his chest and leaned back against the counter. He narrowed his gaze, eyeing up the boy and his friends while he waited for the singer's next move.

"Then how about a consultation, and I'll come back tomorrow?" Harry spoke slowly, a slight slur from the whiskey melting each word into the next.

"I'm all booked up. Besides, tattoos and hangovers aren't a good combination. Can't have you passing out in my chair, now, can I?" Louis knew he was being difficult, but the cute crease between Harry's eyes as he frowned at the shop's owner was enough to keep him from feeling too sorry.

"The day after, then."

"Sure, fine. If you insist," he said with a smirk, finally giving in to the boy's growing pout. "And what kind of tattoo are you looking for?"

"He wants a butterfly! Right, Harry?" The equally inebriated blonde piped up in a strong Irish accent from where he was clinging to their other friend's back.

"That's it," Zayn spoke from behind Louis. "I'm out of here. See you tomorrow, Tommo."

The agitated artist grabbed his bag from underneath his station and stalked towards the front door, brushing past Niall and ignoring Liam's soft, apologetic excuses for his well-past-tipsy mates.

"Let me guess, right above your bum?" It wouldn't be the first time a lads night out resulted in a tramp stamp, but Louis had some measure of morals and knew he wouldn't be tattooing anything on the singer that night, even if he let the boy feel like he might be persuaded. 

"Hey," Harry stubbornly responded, "I'm not that kind of girl."

"No judgement, love. I reckon you'd look proper fit with a pair of pink wings peeking out from your belt," Louis teased, grinning further as the boy grew more flustered.

"I don't want anything above my bum, thank you very much," he said, "but I _do_ want a butterfly. Right here, over my heart."

"Then a butterfly you'll get. Once you're nice and sober, that is."

"I'm serious. You think I'm joking, but I want one. It's important." Harry frowned further, pulling his gaze away from Louis to look at the art displayed on the shop's walls. His eyes flickered over the more realistic designs—they were beautiful in their own way, but not what he pictured when he thought about his butterfly.

"If you want realism, you'll have to book with Zayn. I can't do that for shit," the artist said with a bit of agitation. Though he figured that Harry wouldn't follow through with the tattoo once he'd slept off his drink, Louis couldn't help the flicker of jealousy at the thought of his best mate tattooing the fit singer instead of himself.

"No, I want something bold. Traditional, I think it's called? Like an old sailor tattoo. No color, just black, please."

Louis smiled. Traditional, that he could do. While Harry and his mates wandered around the shop and looked through the photos of old clients that Louis had gotten printed, the shop owner pulled out his sketchbook and quickly threw together a simple butterfly. Something that he hoped would appease the singer without causing him to put too much effort into something that would never actually happen. Once finished, he showed the design to Harry.

The pop star grinned as his finger traced gently over the dark lines, running along the outstretched wings of the creature. It reminded Harry of the moths he'd seen in the field museum with his mother when he was younger—the intricate lace-like patterns meant to scare off predators.

"It's perfect," he breathed. "Liam, see? I told you this was a good idea."

"Sure, H," the broad-shouldered man spoke from the corner where he was currently trying to pull a giggling Niall away from an image of a topless mermaid. "We can come back in a few days time if you still think it's a good idea tomorrow."

Harry looked back to Louis. The artist had been quietly watching him admire the piece, and Harry noticed an odd glint in his eye.

"Could I—could I see it on? To see how it'll look?"

Louis swallowed heavily as Harry's long fingers deftly unbuttoned the last three buttons of his already half undone shirt, shrugging it from his shoulders with little shame. He nodded and moved back behind the desk, placing the page onto the scanner so it could be printed onto the thermal stencil paper.

"Over your heart, you said?" Harry followed Louis behind the counter as he looked at the design now pulled up onto the computer screen. The singer nodded, pointing to the bare skin stretched over his well-defined chest.

"You should—" Louis broke off and turned to face the pop star who'd stumbled into his small shop. "Your torso is long. I think it'd fit well here, spread out like this."

He brought his own hand up and tentatively placed it towards the top of Harry's stomach, his fingertips stretched to brush just below his chest as he imagined the tips of the butterfly's wings spread across the singer's olive skin. Harry looked down and Louis couldn't help but notice the way his breath hitched the slightest bit at the artist's touch.

"You think?" Louis nodded, pulling his hand away before it lingered any longer and became too inappropriate for him to pass off the interaction as business.

"Okay," Harry murmured. "You're the expert."

Louis enlarged the design by a few inches, clicking the print button and pulling the still-warm transfer paper from the tray. He trimmed it down to size and led Harry back towards his station.

He'd completely lost track of the two other lads as his attention narrowed entirely onto the pop star stretching out on the padded table. Louis placed the stencil onto the boy's skin, pressing down with a dampned towel until the design transfered. When it was finished, he helped Harry back up and led him to the mirror, peering over the boy's shoulder and watching him stare at his reflection in fascination.

"You were right," he rumbled, his voice dropping into an even deeper timbre than Louis had grown accustomed to.

"I usually am, love." He couldn't help the cockiness that naturally occurred any time he got the slightest bit flirty.

"Except about me not wanting this tomorrow. I'm always going to want this," Harry said, turning to face Louis and blushing further when he realized how close they were.

"We'll see."

"I'll be back," Harry adamantly stated. "You think I won't, but I will. I want you to book me an appointment. I want this tattoo."

Louis smirked and grabbed one of the surgical markers from his station. He dropped to his knees in front of Harry and peered up at him with mischievous eyes, trying not to make things too obvious as he watched the boy fluster at the implication.

"I'm not booking anything for you tonight, love," he said as he uncapped the pen and wrote his phone number below the stencil, just above Harry's navel. He finished with "Lou xx" written in confident letters curling towards the hipbone he wanted nothing more than to drag his teeth across at the moment. Thankfully he had enough sense to stop himself from blowing on the ink to dry it, an annoying voice reminding him that Harry was drunk, a potential client, hardly more than a stranger at that point, and in the presence of two other men who probably wouldn't care for Louis having his wicked way with the lad directly in front of them. He recapped the pen and stood back to his feet, taking a small step away from the singer so he could regain a clear mind.

"Call me tomorrow when you've slept it off. If you still want it then, I'll get you on the books and we'll get you your butterfly."

Hours after the three had left and Louis had finally closed up, he made his way up the stairs at the back of the building and collapsed into his bed in his flat above the shop. He knew he'd probably never see the dangerously attractive pop star again—even if he did decide he wanted to get a butterfly tattoo, the boy was famous and could easily book an appointment with any one of the well known artists in the city. Despite that, Louis couldn't help but hold out hope as he drifted off into a restless sleep, filled with dreams of deep dimples and messy curls and soft green eyes that he was quickly realizing he never wanted to forget.


	3. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It never fails. I can proofread this thing for hours but as soon as I post, that's when I start finding all of the typos. Anyways, hope you guys enjoy :)
> 
> -Hazel

If anyone had asked, Harry would've sworn up and down that he'd not been glued to his phone that morning, desperately checking a few times every hour to make sure he hadn't missed a text coming through. He'd already panicked after waking up at three in the morning only to realize the exhaustion from his flight and the alcohol had caused him to sleep almost an entire twenty-four hours on Liam's couch. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept that many hours straight.

He was sprawled on the couch and in the process of ordering some takeaway for lunch when his phone buzzed in his hand, a text popping up on the top of his screen. Thankfully, no one was currently in the flat to see him jump and drop his phone straight onto his face.

 **Harry:** Hi! It's Harry.

 **Harry:** (the guy you wouldn't tattoo the other night)

 **Tattoo Lou** 🍆🍆🍆💦 **:** i remember you butterfly boy

Harry groaned at the display name. He'd been too bleary eyed to notice it when he'd texted Louis that morning, but now he was remembering Niall giggling while "borrowing" Harry's phone on their way back to Liam's flat. The Irishman was a big fan of emojis and had clearly picked up on the pop star's new crush. Harry quickly deleted the suggestive aubergines, smiling as a second text appeared in his inbox.

 **Tattoo Lou:** must've been a wicked hangover or else i was right about the second thoughts

 **Harry:** Can I blame jet lag? I slept straight through yesterday. But I woke up this morning still wanting my butterfly.

 **Harry:** (told you I would)

 **Tattoo Lou:** a deals a deal love... if you still want me to be the one to mark you up i'll book you an appointment

Harry blushed, thankful that Louis couldn't see him through the phone. He knew the artist was talking about a tattoo, but Harry couldn't help the way his mind wandered towards thoughts of Louis marking him up in a different sort of way. Maybe he should've left the sexual veg next to Louis's name—he wouldn't mind having purple fingerprints on his hips and little red bites on his neck from the artist.

 **Harry:** Why wouldn't I want you?

 **Tattoo Lou:** just sayin... a popstar like you could be getting his ink anywhere... dont want you regretting wandering into my little shop on the wrong side of camden

 **Harry:** You keep thinking I'm going to regret things. Book me the appointment please. I want my butterfly and I want it from you.

And so Louis booked the appointment for the singer for the following afternoon. He told Harry he wanted time to clean up the design a little—to give him a few options. Harry tried to convince him to not do _too_ much to it as he liked the serendipity of the first design being perfect, but Louis was stubborn and said he wouldn't be doing Harry justice as a client if he didn't put a little more effort behind it. He snapped a few photos to send to the singer as he continued to sketch in between appointments, smiling a little wider with each text as Harry's excitement grew more and more in the dim glow of his cracked phone screen. And if their conversation veered beyond the butterfly as the day melted into night, well, no one needed to know.

"He's seriously going through with it, then?" Zayn hooked his chin over Louis's shoulder to look at the design the following morning. Louis nodded, dragging the pen nib over the bottom of one of the wings as he put the last few finishing touches on the butterfly. He didn't miss the judgment in Zayn's tone and wasn't sure why he felt a flash of anger. He was used to his best friend's assessments of people. Louis always ribbed him about being pretentious and broody, calling attention to the way the artist would chain smoke cigarettes and flip through the dog—eared Ginsberg he kept in his bag for inspiration, chasing it all down with a joint before grabbing a few cans of paint and heading off to tag another building in the dark of night. His best mate was the worst blend of punk and hipster and had a bad habit of writing people off within moments. And Louis loved him for it, normally.

"Fuck off, Z. It means something to him. Doesn't seem like the type to get something so—controversial?—without having a reason."

"Please, he's just another cookie cutter pop star trying to prove that he's deep. You've had one conversation with him. You don't know shit about his reasons."

"That's rich coming from you, mate. And so what? Maybe I want to get to know him. At least I'm not judging him based on one interaction." Louis shrugged Zayn off his shoulder harshly, slapping the cover over the drawing and turning to glare at his friend.

"Fuck, mate, didn't realize you'd be so sensitive about this. Sorry." Zayn took a step backwards, hands raised and his face staring back with mild surprise. Louis realized his friend hadn't meant to make it personal, not knowing that Louis's initial attraction to the singer had been morphing into a bit of a crush with every text they'd exchanged.

"No, I'm sorry, Z. I just—I don't know. We were talking about the tattoo and just kind of started talking in general. And you've seen him—he's fit as hell."

"Oh, now I get it," the younger man said with a knowing grin. "Sure you want to get into that, Tommo? If anyone finds out, you're going to have half his fans pissed that you fucked their favourite singer and the other half swarming the shop for a shot at running into him."

"There's nothing to find out. I just want to see where this goes, yeah?"

"Sure, mate. Just know that I'm not about to be tattooing a bunch of tiny infinity symbols and love hearts on eighteen-year-olds just so they can try to score an autograph from your new boyfriend."

"No, I wouldn't _dare_ ask you to compromise your art for the sake of keeping the shop afloat," Louis sassed. "We'll just ignore the fact that I watched you tattoo that homage to Bart Simpson on a man's left arse cheek so you could finally buy that new respirator. You'd _never_ ink something less than profound, you know, as part of your job."

Zayn grinned back, flipping off his friend as he turned and headed towards the back door for yet another smoke break. They'd both talked about someday making it big enough in the tattoo scene to be able to be selective—to be able to turn down the tattoos that they had no interest in doing, only designing custom pieces for people that came to them specifically for their own art. But sadly, they were a ways off from that. Rent was expensive, and as Louis had come to learn, the costs of owning a business were pretty rough at times. Especially when things like a pipe bursting in the wall had to shut them down for a few weeks for heath and sanitation reasons. While Zayn adamantly refused Louis's offers to make him a co-owner of 28ink, claiming that kind of "anchor" would stifle his creativity, he'd always solicit extra bookings with little complaint when things had been slow and bills were starting to pile up for the shop.

Louis shook his head at his coworker, following him just far enough to grab another cup of tea from the break room. The day quickly passed as he worked his way through two small flash appointments and sorting through the shop's email inbox. Before he knew it, his phone buzzed three times with texts from the singer.

 **Harry:** We're just outside. Niall's asking (demanding) that you come out here.

 **Harry:** Literally dragged me back from walking to the door.

 **Harry:** I'm sorry, but would you mind?

Louis chuckled and shook his head. Harry had shared a few stories about his friends, having talked about how happy he was to be back in the same city as them, so Louis could imagine the Irishman stomping his feet at the singer.

Ducking out of the shop, he followed the lads' voices around the corner, finding Niall practically shoving his two friends up against the brick wall of the alley. Spotting the tattoo artist, the blonde quickly jogged over and began pushing Louis towards the other men.

"We're taking a pre-tattoo picture. It'll be the last photo ever of the Virgin Harry."

Ignoring the singer's playful protests about not being a virgin and trying not to let his mind wander too much at the thought of Harry's past sexual experiences, Louis raised a skeptical eyebrow and asked why Niall had requested his presence. The radio host looked back at him like it was the dumbest question he'd ever heard.

"You're the artist—of course you need to be in it. You're deflowering our little H, here, and we've got to record the memory. For posterity's sake."

"For the last time, Niall, stop shouting about me being a virgin. I'm getting a tattoo, it's not that big of a deal." Harry moved to slug his friend in the arm, but the blonde quickly dodged it, gripping Louis by the shoulders and tucking him in between Harry and Niall.

"Tattoo virgin, _virgin_ virgin, it's all the same in the end. Now smile—this one's going in the scrapbook, lads!"

Holding up his phone, Niall snapped a quick photo of the trio, checking the screen before nodding in satisfaction and tucking the device back into his pocket.

"Perfect. Now, what are you lot waiting for? Stop standing about like a bunch of hoodlums. In we go."

"Good to see you again, Curly," Louis said with a smile, holding the door open for the lads and laughing at the way Harry pouted from his choice of nickname. He gestured over to his coworker. "This one left in a hurry the other night, but Zayn, here, is my best mate and the other artist at the shop."

Harry smiled brightly at the scowling man sitting behind the counter. He turned and tugged at his two friends who'd stopped just short of where he stood, pulling them forward so he could introduce them.

"Nice to meet you, Zayn. These are my best friends, Niall and Liam. Ni works in radio, and Li's a fighter."

"Fighter? Like the Karate Kid?" The dark-eyed boy narrowed his gaze at Liam, sizing him up in his trainers and hoodie. Liam blushed, tugging at the hem of his shirt. He looked put together in a casual way, he knew that, but as he took in the artist's leather jacket, litany of rings, and his intentionally messy coif, Liam couldn't help but feel like he was way out of his league. He'd been thinking about the unfairly attractive man since he'd seen him briefly the night that Harry flew back to London, but the only time he ever felt remotely confident was when he was in his element at the gym or in the ring.

"No, I started out as a boxer," he responded somewhat shyly.

"Yeah, but now he's doing MMA. Like cage fighting and all that. Li's proper good, mate. Wouldn't be surprised if he landed himself in the UFC soon." Niall grinned brightly at his friend, always one to talk up the people in his life.

"Right. Well I'm a pacifist, so I'd appreciate you not throwing any punches in here."

As Liam blushed a bright red, Louis groaned and threw a pen at his friend's head.

"Ignore him, he's being a right dick today." Flipping Zayn off as the other artist did the same, Louis reached out with his other hand to lead Harry towards his station. "Anyways, are you ready to get started, love?"

Once Harry had approved the final design, smiling brightly at Louis with excitement in a way that had the artist's heart beating double time, Louis had him tug the loose shirt over his head, pulling out a disposable razor to shave the area he was about to tattoo.

"Never thought I'd have someone shaving my chest, I have to say," the singer murmured, flushing the slightest bit.

"This is nothing, Harold. We're just getting rid of your little baby hairs. I'm the one who could add 'professional gorilla shaver's to my CV. You should see what I have to put up with when Zayn wants a new piece—boy claims it's because he's Pakistani, but I swear he shares a bit of DNA with Bigfoot." Harry giggled at the declaration, making Louis smile with pride over making the singer happy.

"I heard that, Tommo, and it's a load of shit. You're calling this Bigfoot?" The pair looked over to see Zayn yanking up the hem of his tight, black shirt to reveal a set of very tan, very defined, and admittedly very hairless abs. While Louis continued to harass his friend, Harry couldn't help but notice the way Liam's jaw practically dropped to the floor. Niall noticed as well with a wicked grin, dabbing at the corner's of Liam's mouth with a tissue he'd dug from his pocket to mop up the imaginary drool from his friend's chin. Looking over at Harry, he gleefully held the crumpled tissue out to the singer, nodding in Louis's direction so as to not miss an opportunity to tease both of his mates at once for their crushes. The sound of Louis's question snapped the pop star's attention back to the artist.

"Ready for the stencil, Harold?"

"My name's not Harold, _Lewis_."

"Whatever you say, Curly. Now lay back, arms at your side. I'm going to get this centered and then we'll see how you like it." Louis wiped down Harry's smooth stomach with alcohol before leaning forward and placing the thermal paper below his chest. Though he was wearing rubber gloves, Harry felt his skin tingle wherever Louis's hands trailed.

By the time the stencil was placed and Louis had finished setting up the sterile tray with the tattoo machine and little cups of ink, Harry's stomach was fluttering with a different sort of butterfly. It had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with the way Louis bit at his lip while concentrating and smirked every time he caught Harry staring at him while doing it.

"Alright, love. I'm going to start with the outline. It's a single needle so it's going to feel a bit like bee stings, but you'll get used to it, I promise. Once that's done, we'll take a little break and then I'll go in with the shading. That's this set of needles here, and it's going to feel a bit more like I'm scratching at a fresh sunburn. If it gets to be too much or you need a break, just let me know. I won't be angry, and I'd rather have you tell me than to have you passing out." Noticing the nervous look on Harry's face, he continued. "Just remember—at the end of this, you're finally going to have your butterfly, yeah?"

Once Harry nodded and settled back onto the padded table, a loud buzzing filled the air and he winced at the feeling of the needle pushing ink into his skin for the first time. Louis was right, though, and after a few minutes of watching the fit artist skillfully working the machine over Harry's stomach, the singer's endorphins began to kick in and the pain began to fade into a mild irritation. Every once in a while, he'd hiss slightly at a particularly sensitive spot, but for the most part it wasn't nearly as bad as he's worked it up to be in his head.

In the background, he could hear Niall and Liam speaking quietly back and forth before the Irishman must've gotten bored and wandered over to pester Zayn. Knowing Liam, he'd decided to ignore Niall in favor of reading a book on his phone, his favourite way to pass time when he wasn't actively training, and the blonde had never been one to sit still for long. Both Harry and Louis flinched as they heard the loud clatter of a stool tipping over from the front of the shop, and Zayn's agitated voice followed.

"Oi, Rocky Balboa, I'm not babysitting the leprechaun for you. Keep him on a leash, yeah?"

Harry muttered his own quiet apologies to Louis for his friend's clumsiness while listening to Liam do the same from the front of the shop. Thankfully, Niall was quick to proclaim that no damage was done, and Louis swore that he wouldn't have minded even if there had been. The way Niall had a habit of making his friends smile bought a lot of forgiveness with the tattoo shop owner.

Before Harry knew it, Louis was cleaning off his tattoo with a bit of water and helping Harry stand up to look at the finished piece in the mirror. He stood a bit closer behind the boy than he would've a normal client, smiling over Harry's shoulder at the delighted look that had taken over the singer's face.

"Lou, it's absolutely perfect. I love it! Thank you so much!" The artist brushed off the compliments, not missing the way Harry leaned back into his chest as he spoke, closing the small gap between them. He hesitated for a moment, weighing the potential consequences of scaring off the singer if he'd been misreading the attraction between them, before placing his gloved hands on the boy's bare hips and squeezing gently, standing slightly on his toes to get a better look at the pair of them in the mirror.

"I'm glad you like it, love. It suits you." When Harry blushed again, his cheeks blossoming with a beautiful pink colour, Louis finally pulled himself away and took a step back, tugging off the gloves and chucking them in the bin before grabbing the phone from his pocket to take a picture of his latest piece.

"H, that looks great," Niall said, rushing over with Liam in tow to admire their best friend's new permanent art. "We've got to go out tonight and get you pissed enough to take off your shirt at the pub—show the world your new ink!"

"No drinks for you, Curly. Not for two days' time, and I don't want any of you lot trying to tempt him. I'm lookin' at you, Blondie." Louis snapped on a fresh pair of gloves, wetting down a paper towel with the squeeze bottle from the sterile tray. Harry flinched away from the cold once Louis swiped it against his abs, cleaning up the last bits of blood and ink from his skin.

"But we're supposed to be celebrating," Niall protested. Harry nodded as Louis rubbed a thin layer of ointment over his new butterfly and followed it up with a sheet of cling film. As he ripped strips of sticky tape and placed them around the edges, the artist looked over towards Liam.

"You look like a smart one with a fair bit of ink, himself," he said, eyeing the tattoos that littered Liam's arms now that he'd taken his hoodie off. "Want to take this?"

"Alcohol thins your blood, Ni," Liam said kindly. "If H drinks, it could mess up his new tattoo. Best give it a couple of days to heal."

"That's a lad," Louis said, nodding with a smirk as he helped Harry up from the tattoo table.

"So no drinks at all?" Niall looked horrified at the artist's rules.

"Plenty of water would be good," Louis cheekily answered.

Harry turned to his blonde friend as he tugged his thin shirt back over his head.

"S'alright, Ni. We'll just go out this weekend, yeah?"

"Can't," he muttered. "I've got a bloody match to cover up in Manchester."

"Liam?" Harry looked over at the fighter, trying not to smile when he caught him staring over at Zayn's station.

"What?" Liam blushed as he turned his attention back to the singer. "Oh—I've got a bout on Saturday so I won't be able to go out either."

Harry nodded, a little disappointed though he was never one to mind a quiet night in.

"No worries, I've got a bottle of wine and a scented candle with my name on it. Have myself a quiet little celebration on my own. Maybe watch a film—who knows?" Louis's breath got a little more shallow as he watched Harry's face glaze over with an expression that he could only describe as dreamy.

"Tell you what, love," Louis said. "If you end up feeling like some company, why don't you swing by 'round closing time and I'll take you out for a pint meself."

Harry grinned and nodded, listening as Louis went over the rest of the aftercare for his new tattoo.

"Nappy cream?" The singer was baffled by the artist's instructions to put an ointment meant for nappy rash on his butterfly over the next coming days.

"If it's gentle enough for a baby's bum, it's gentle enough for your tattoo, Curly," Louis informed him. Niall howled with laughter.

"Oh, I hope you get papped at the shops buying that," the blonde teased.

"One, I hardly ever get papped, Ni. 'S usually just outside of concerts and things. And two, it's not like I'm going to be waving a box of Bepanthen over my head walking down the street," Harry laughed. Despite his words, he made a mental note to add the ointment to his grocery delivery that week so he could save the embarrassment of a grown man with no children trying to explain to a cashier why he was purchasing the single tube of cream from the pharmacy. Louis rolled his eyes in amusement at the Irishman's teasing before pulling out the packet of care instructions he gave to every client.

As they made their goodbyes to both Louis and a still-grumpy Zayn, Louis reached out to grab Harry's wrist before he could follow his mates out onto the street. His hand slid down, lacing his fingers through the pop stars and giving a slight squeeze.

"You've got my number still, yeah?" Harry nodded, his nose wrinkling with a smile because _of course_ Louis knew that he still had the artist's number. He'd texted him just outside of the shop. "Right, 'course you do. Well if you have any questions—"

"Just questions?" Harry blushed again, squeezing back at their interlaced hands.

"You know the answer to that, love," Louis murmured, tugging Harry forward to brush a quick kiss to the boy's cheek before he could stop himself. "Friday, half nine—that's when the shop closes for the night. I hope I'll be seeing you then."

With one final squeeze, the artist let go of the singer's hand and took a step backwards. He couldn't help but grin at the way Harry brought his fingertips up to brush the skin where Louis's lips had just touched. The pop star nodded, cheeks tinged with a pretty pink, before turning and disappearing out onto the Camden street.


	4. three

Harry was a bit early when he walked into the shop the following Friday evening. He'd had a long morning of meetings with the new label branch, and things were a lot different than they'd been in California. For one, his new publicists were much more posh than the ones he'd been partnered with at the Los Angeles branch, and his new manager was also a lot more "stuffy" than his predecessor. The team had spent the morning scolding Harry for immediately going out with Liam and Niall upon landing at Heathrow, lecturing him about "irresponsibility" and "image." Harry had walked out of the building with his head hung low and his anxiety rising, trying his best to hold back the tears in his eyes from the lashing. For as much growing up as he'd done over his years in the industry, they'd managed to make him feel so immature in a few short hours. He'd hated how it made a small part of him want to run back to the familiarity of California despite finally being home.

After texting Louis, he'd learned that the artist had also had a rough day. Apparently one of his appointments had been running late and then made snide and condescending remarks throughout the duration of the tattoo for him taking so long to finish it. Louis had also been procrastinating on getting his financial paperwork together for the shop's accountant and had spent the rest of the afternoon with a splitting headache from searching for receipts and banking statements. Thankfully, he only had one more appointment before closing up for the night. As neither of them felt up for an evening out, but not wanting to miss the opportunity to spend some time together, Louis had offered up his flat for dinner and a film. 

"Hey, love. Come on over, I'm just wrapping up." Louis smiled over at the curly haired boy standing in the doorway holding a cloth shopping bag with wine and another bag of takeaway. The artist had warned the pop star that he was shit at cooking, but Harry had already planned on offering to bring something over as he figured they were both too worn out to spend any time in the kitchen.

"Sorry, I know I'm early," Harry apologized. He felt a bit awkward as he made his way over to Louis's station where a young woman was laying face down, completely nude from the waist up. "Are you sure it's okay to be here?"

The woman looked up and smiled, nodding at the singer without a trace of recognition. Granted, she was covered in tattoos and piercings and had bright green hair which wasn't in Harry's normal fan demographic, but he was still pleased that he wasn't causing too much of a distraction in the shop.

"Sure, as long as you're not squeamish. I'm a sympathetic vomiter," she said with a laugh. "How's it looking? Dickhead, here, keeps telling me he's been messing it up but I never trust a word out of this boy's mouth."

Harry leaned over Louis's shoulder, careful not to bump the artist as he took in the dark lines forming a mermaid before responding.

"It's supposed to be a lion, right?" The girl cracked out a barking laugh.

"Oh, you'll do just fine with this one, Lou." The machine continued to buzz as Louis leaned forward to put the finishing touches on the creature's fin. Harry pulled out his phone to snap a photo, loving the way the machine looked like it belonged in Louis's glove-covered hands—a mechanical extension of his own body.

"Ah, fuck. Hey, how do you feel about your mermaid having three tits?"

The girl turned her head again, rolling her eyes towards Harry at the artist's antics.

"Bugger off, Tommo. Just finish the damn thing so you can give your man a proper hello."

A bit later, once Louis had bandaged up his client and had sent her on her way, he and Harry made their way upstairs and settled into the cozy flat above the shop. Harry unpacked the foil pans of pasta while Louis uncorked the wine and grabbed two glasses from one of the top cabinets. He giggled when he caught the man clambering onto the counter to reach the tall shelf.

"Oi, shut it, Curly. They're up here because I never use the fancy glasses. I'm more of a wine in a tea mug kind of guy. Making fun of me for trying to treat you right, here, I see how it is," Louis muttered playfully.

"I don't need fancy glasses, Lou. It's nothing special, just cheap wine from Tesco's."

"It's not about the wine, love. I know this night isn't exactly what we had planned, and I just want to make it a little more special for you."

Harry blushed as Louis made his way over to the couch, gratefully taking the offered glass for a sip. The sickly sweet drink slid over his tongue leaving behind the telltale burn of inexpensive alcohol. They sat side by side as they tucked into the lukewarm pasta, knees brushing entirely too often for it to be accidental. In between bites, they continued to get to know each other.

"I'm sure you get asked this all the time, but what got you into music?" Louis set his empty tin down, having finished his meal in about half the time it was taking Harry, and drew one leg up onto the cushion so he could face the singer.

"I've always liked music. Ever since I can remember, I was making up silly little songs. When I was in Year 7 or so, I started singing covers and putting them on the internet. It wasn't anything much, but some talent scout found my channel and brought me in for a meeting. Said they liked my sound and thought I'd be able to make it big." Harry took another large sip of wine, grimacing at the burn.

"It wasn't ever about that for me, though. I just thought it would be amazing to be able to work with people who made a career out of it, right? Be able to learn about singing and songwriting—and it gave me an outlet to make something from the thoughts running through my mind. I like being able to look back on the songs I write and remember. They're like a biography to me, little moments in time that I get to keep forever." He cut himself off, shaking his head as if he could clear away his train of thought. "What about you? How'd you get into tattooing? Were you that kid running around the playground with a marker pen trying to draw dicks and flowers on your mates?"

"Dicks and flowers?" Louis's head dropped back as his laugh rang though the quiet flat. "What a combination! And not quite, though I was a bit of a handful in primary school I'll admit. I actually used to want to be an actor. Like, a proper theatre lad. Then Zayn found this old tattoo machine in a secondhand shop. We cleaned it up and bought needles and ink and whatnot. Gave each other our first tattoos and got hooked. Managed to convince someone to take us on as apprentices, and then I came into a bit of money and bought the shop."

"Which one was your first," Harry asked, reaching out to run his fingertips over the "28" on Louis's knuckles as they gripped his glass. The artist tilted the cup back to drain the last bits of wine, already beginning to feel its effects warming his stomach and making his mind the slightest bit fuzzy.

"This one," he said, holding out his arm so that Harry could see the small skateboarding stick figure. The long-haired boy brought his hand up to trace the design. "It's just got the little skater, and then the line underneath for the ramp."

"Isn't the ramp supposed to go the other way? It looks like he's jumping off a hill." The singer giggled as Louis gently took his hand and moved it up a few inches on his skin until Harry's pointer was touching the letters above the design.

"That's why it says 'Oops!' just there," Louis chuckled. "We didn't realize for a bit, but that's what happens when you give a couple of kids a tattoo machine."

"And this one?" Harry's finger slid around the curve of Louis's arm.

"Zayn's got one as well. 'S where we met, on Bus 1 for our primary school. Thick as thieves right from the start."

Harry brought his fingers up the man's bicep, pushing the sleeve of his shirt towards his shoulder so he could see the entirety of the stag on Louis's arm before dropping his gaze to the little images littering his skin.

"You have so many," he murmured.

"Yeah, I just started collecting them, didn't I? Little moments in time that I get to keep forever."

"Like my songs," Harry said with a soft smile.

"Exactly like that, love." Harry brought his own glass up and finished the remaining dregs from the bottom of the cup. Before he could say anything, Louis reached over and took the glass from his hands after picking up his own, standing and moving away from the couch to refill them.

"Need anything while I'm up, Hares?" Louis called over, pouring the last of the wine into their glasses. They'd finished one bottle during their dinner and Louis had opened the second while Harry had been finishing his pasta.

"Wait, did you just call me 'Hairs?' As in the hairs on your head?" Harry turned to face the man in the kitchen, stretching his long legs out in front of them so that his toes touched the armrest Louis had been closest to.

"Honestly, Harold. Why do you feel the need to shit on all me nicknames for you? It's like you want me to just call you 'Harry' or summit." Louis grinned, carrying over the cups to the couch and kicking gently at Harry's feet so that he could sit down again. Harry lifted his legs from the cushions just enough for the artist to slide beneath them before settling them so his knees were draped over the man's strong thighs.

" _Honestly, Lou_ ," he mimicked back. "You just come up with shit nicknames. First it was butterfly boy—"

"Oi! You wanted a butterfly tattoo," Louis protested.

"—then Curly, then Harold," he continued.

"That's your name, innit?"

"No, it's just 'Harry!' And it's definitely not 'Hairs,'" he said in exasperation.

"Well it's a good thing I didn't call you 'Hairs,' then."

"Yeah? Then what did you call me?" Harry leaned forward, digging his finger into the man's side.

"Ay, watch it! I called you—uh, 'Haz!' _H-A-Z_."

"'Haz?' What kind of a nickname is that?" Harry dragged his finger up the boy's chest, resting it on Louis's nose. He'd noticed he was more tactile than he'd normally have the courage for with the wine coursing through his veins.

"A cute one. My Hazza," Louis grinned, pulling his chin up and nipping at the tip of Harry's finger. With his teeth gently keeping the singer's digit in his mouth, Louis couldn't resist running his wine-stained tongue over the calloused skin.

They both felt the shift in the air—a charge, almost as if the tension between them was electric and the simplest touch would give them a static shock. Harry pulled his wrist back, dragging his dampened fingertip over Louis's bottom lip and tugging at the soft, pink skin.

"That's dangerous, love. Keep that up and I'm gonna be kissing you." Louis's breath quickened as the hand that had found its way to rest just above Harry's knee gripped a little tighter on the boy's thigh.

Harry brought his eyes up and looked straight into the glassy blues that were staring back at him before running his finger deliberately across the artist's lip once more. Grabbing the two wine glasses once again, Louis quickly set them on the table. He reached back up to firmly grip Harry's jaw with both hands, his fingers weaving into the messy curls at the back of the boy's neck.

In a move that Harry would've never managed as gracefully, Louis climbed forward until he was kneeling in between the singer's outstretched legs on the couch, hovering above the boy with a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Last chance, Haz," he murmured, searching for any hesitation. Instead, Harry brought his hands up to grip Louis's hips, fingers brushing against the sliver of skin where his shirt had ridden up and his trousers sat dangerously low. Louis tugged the singer's head forward, their lips finally colliding as their lidded eyes closed.

Harry had never been kissed like this before, with Louis's strong hands guiding him to exactly where he needed to be. The artist was in total control, giving Harry the freedom he never knew he craved to get lost in the feelings. As Louis tugged at the sensitive hairs on the nape of his neck, Harry's mouth fell open and he tasted the cheap wine on the man's tongue. It was the perfect mix of push and pull, Louis's hips and chest pinning Harry down into the cushions while his hands dragged the singer impossibly closer.

As Harry's head brushed against the pillow leaning against the armrest, Louis settled against him. The tattooed punk's hips ground down against the pop star's as he broke his lips from Harry's and dragged them over the boy's skin, scraping his teeth against his neck. Harry felt Louis's tongue dip into the hollow of his collarbone, and his hands—almost of their own accord—travelled up Louis's back, his short fingernails leaving trails of red on the man's smooth skin.

Louis leaned up for a moment, causing his hips to press even harder into Harry's, and tugged his shirt over his head in one swift motion. Before he could lay back down over the singer, Harry surged up and began kissing and licking and biting the calligraphy decorating Louis's skin that had been hidden beneath his collar. He braced his arms against Louis's back, pulling himself up to meet the man's mouth once again until they were both tumbling back down into the cushions. His mind tumbled with him as he lost himself in the feelings of Louis's body covering his every inch with a sinful strength.

"Hazza, babe," Louis whispered against Harry's lips. He could feel the words against his tongue, bringing him back into the moment—back to the surface of reality.

"Lou—" he answered, opening his eyes and finding Louis looking down at him with a careful mix of lust and restraint.

"Tell me what you want, love. I need to know what you want."

"You. I want you." Though as the words left his lips, thoughts of this turning into a one night stand began to plague Harry's mind. What if Louis got what he wanted and Harry didn't intrigue him enough for the man to want more? Or what if he thought the singer was too easy—an industry party boy who had dozens of notches on his belt and had no qualms spreading his legs for the next man who came along? Though the rational part of his mind was shouting at him about Louis being more than that and to give the artist credit, the anxiety had already found a crack to slip through and was clouding over his thoughts.

"Harry. Look at me, baby. Right here," the man said as he gently brushed the messy curls away from Harry's face, guiding the boy until he was looking into Louis's eyes. "You have me, love—promise. No matter what we do tonight, you have me, yeah?"

Harry nodded, flickering his gaze down to the swollen, pink lips that had been teasing him just moments ago. Louis shifted back, giving the boy a little space to breathe while keeping close enough that he wouldn't feel rejected, or so the artist hoped.

"Can we maybe—not? Tonight?" Harry turned his head so he wouldn't have to look at Louis, waiting for the man to get angry for working him up just to leave him hanging.

"Course, love," Louis said quickly, sitting upright and pulling Harry with him until they were leaning against the back of the couch. He took Harry's hands in his, bringing them up so he could brush kisses over the boy's knuckles. "We can take this slow."

"Not slow—" he protested, knowing that he'd be greedy for more of what they'd just done and that it would surely lead to more sooner rather than later. "Just not tonight."

"Not tonight," Louis agreed. Harry felt a moment of insecurity, wondering if the artist would want him to leave now that sex was off the table. He'd had a long day, after all, and could be the kind of person who preferred alone time to decompress.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can go if you want."

Louis instead brought his hand back up to Harry's jaw, his other hand lacing together with the singer's, and pressed a soft kiss to Harry's bitten lips.

"I'd rather you stayed." He pulled back and rested his forehead against Harry's. "I'll take you home if you really want, though. I don't want you wandering the streets alone at this hour."

"You want me to stay?"

"You're my Hazza, babe. Course I want you to stay—spend some more time with you now that I'm allowed to cuddle." He shot the boy a cheeky grin, pressing another quick kiss to Harry's mouth and softly laughing when Harry chased it with a smile. "There he is. I was missing your dimples."

He wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders, tucking him into his side so his head was sat in the crook of Louis's neck. Putting on a film like Louis had promised when they'd made the evening's plans, the pair continued sipping at the last of the cheap, too-sweet wine that didn't taste nearly as good in the glass as it had on their lips. Harry didn't notice his eyes growing heavy, but as he fell still under Louis's strong fingers scratching gently through his hair, he slipped into a comfortable sleep—wrapped in both a soft blanket and Louis's arms with the glow of the TV screen casting shadows over them well into the night.


	5. four

Louis woke later than normal the next morning to a soft bird's nest tickling his nose. Looking down, he tightened his arms around the boy tucked just under his chin before reaching up to brush the singer's wild bedhead away from their faces. At some point during the night, they'd shifted on the couch so that they were stretched across the length of it with their legs tangled together. Harry's warm breath spilled over Louis's bare chest as he ducked down to place a sweet kiss on the sleeping boy's forehead.

"Good morning, love," he whispered, fonding at the way Harry's nose crinkled with a soft frown. Louis continued to run his fingers through the long, brown hair, taking care not to tug as he was sure Harry would probably be sporting a similar headache to his own from the sugary wine the night before. Harry slowly blinked, stretching against the tattoo artist's body and letting out a deep exhale.

"Lou," he said in a gravelly voice.

"Sleep well? I know this couch isn't the most comfy, but hopefully my shoulder wasn't too terrible of a pillow."

"What? Oh—" Harry moved to sit up, feeling bad that he'd been laying practically half on top of the artist. "Sorry!"

Louis tugged him back down, tilting the boy's head just enough so that he could give him a chaste kiss to his sleep-chapped lips.

"Don't be sorry, Haz. Best sleep I've gotten in a while—nice little cuddle." Harry ducked his face back into Louis's neck to hide the blush spreading over his cheeks.

"You're a sap," he chuckled against Louis's warm skin.

"Just for you, love," the artist replied, grinning as he helped Harry until they were both sitting upright on the cushions. The soft buzz of one of their cell phones left on the coffee table with the now-empty wine glasses pulled their attention away from each other. Harry realized it was his and moved to pick up the almost-dead device. As the lock screen lit, they both saw the notifications that had been piling up.

"Is that normal, then?" Louis's stomach turned at the thought of waking up on a daily basis to that level of people trying to contact him, though the nausea could've also been the result of his slowly growing hangover.

Harry shook his head, frowning as he pressed his fingerprint on the lock button. The first thing he noticed were the twelve missed calls from his publicist, followed by seven from his manager. There were email notifications as well with subject lines like "unacceptable behaviour" and "social media management" buried in between the spam emails that normally crowded his inbox. Opening his texts, his thumb hovered for a moment before clicking on the top thread as he tried to swallow down the unpleasant anxiousness that was rising like bile in his throat.

 **JR - Manager:** Answer your phone. This is urgent.

 **JR - Manager:** You need to pick up my calls.

 **JR - Manager:** I've scheduled an emergency meeting with the team and you are expected to be there. Noon sharp at the office. Do not be late.

The texts from his publicist were similar in nature, with the exception of strict instructions to not "post, like, or comment on anything at all" with "zero exceptions."

Harry looked at Louis in confusion, trying to think of what could've happened that would've caused this. He hadn't done anything spectacular after his meetings with the label—he'd only gone back to Liam's flat before stopping by Tesco's and the restaurant where he'd picked up the takeaway, and nothing had seemed out of the ordinary. After that, he'd been with Louis the entire night. 

Harry moved to his email app, pulling up the message titled "Unacceptable Behaviour" in hopes of getting some clarification into the apparent crisis.

> _Mr. Styles,_
> 
> _I would foremost ask you to excuse my tone as it is quite early in the day and this level of urgency leaves little room for professionalism. On behalf of the label and in my capacity as your manager, I must express my deep disappointment in your latest actions on social media, particularly in regards to the photos posted to your Instagram account last evening._
> 
> _As discussed during our meetings yesterday morning, our goal is to ensure a smooth transition of your career to our UK label, and to continue promoting you as an artist that appeals generically to a broad market. In order to do so successfully, your public image is of utmost importance._
> 
> _In parting yesterday, I was under the impression that you understood our intentions with the Harry Styles brand: London's Sweetheart, Boy-Next-Door, Classically Charming._ _Normally, I would assume that you would have little trouble remembering conversations that took place less than twenty-four hours ago, however, your recent actions give me cause for concern as to your mental acuity._
> 
> _To speak frankly, posting photos of tattoo parlours and the inference of licking "cheap wine" off someone's body are hardly conducive to the clean-cut image we are trying to portray._
> 
> _As such, we will be discussing our actions moving forward to ensure this type of behaviour does not continue. Please make yourself available for the duration of today as we will be focusing on damage control and next steps._
> 
> _\- JR_

"What the fuck?" The tattoo artist had been reading the email over Harry's shoulder and pulled up the pop star's Instagram page on his own phone to see what they'd been referring to. "Are they seriously pissed about that? No offense, Haz, but your manager sounds like a complete twat."

Harry was crying softly by the time he'd reached the end of the email and welcomed the warm hug that Louis pulled him into, the artist first tossing both of their phones towards the end of the couch. He sniffled, his deep voice muffled against Louis's neck.

"Those meetings yesterday—they were upset that I was seen 'partying' with Liam and Niall right after I'd gotten home. They only found out because I'd been tagged in a few photos with fans but I didn't think it would be that bad. Like, I was smiling and being polite and they all seemed excited to meet me. And I didn't even look pissed in any of the photos they'd pulled up, it was just that I had drinks in my hand."

"They were upset that you went out with you best mates and had a few pints?" Louis scoffed. "Anyone would've done the same after not seeing your boys in God knows how long. And I'm sure those fans were fucking thrilled to see you, Haz."

Louis gently wiped the tears away from the boy's face and followed by peppering tiny kisses wherever his fingers had been.

"Do you want me to come to this meeting with you? I'd be happy to, love. I've got half a mind to march in there regardless and tell this _JR_ dickhead exactly where he can stuff his 'public image' bullshit." Harry let out a watery chuckle, pulling back and rubbing at his eyes with the sleeves of his jumper.

"It's okay, Lou. I'll be alright."

"Right, well, if things get too rough, you feel free to tell him that I think he's a twat. He can't get mad at you for something I said, yeah? He needs to know that he's not allowed to make my boy cry like this." Louis's hand lightly brushed away the soft hairs that had fallen forward onto the pop star's face.

"Thank you," Harry whispered. "I'm sorry I got emotional. I just don't like upsetting people."

"Babe, you don't have to be sorry," Louis said firmly. "I got emotional as well reading it—just a bit more on the anger spectrum than the sad one. You should never have to be sorry for the way you feel about something."

The singer nodded, leaning forward to sweetly kiss Louis before reaching for his phone to respond to his manager's last text. Looking at the clock, he'd have just enough time to get to the label office if he called a cab.

 **Harry:** Apologies for not responding, just woke up. On my way **.**

"It was complete bullshit, Z. You should've heard it," Louis snapped, angrily slamming a bottle of ink onto the shelf above his station. The artist had filled his friend in on the events of the morning while Zayn relaxed on one of the tattoo tables, scrolling through Harry's Instagram page to see what sort of scandal his best mate had gotten himself involved in.

"You know, he actually has a pretty chill account. Honestly, Tommo, you should get that tattooing photo printed for the shop—looks professional. He took that with his phone?"

"Yeah, I mean, his phone's probably fancy as. Latest model or whatever. But seriously, he should be allowed to post what he wants. It's not like he was prancing around in his pants on Snapchat, and even if he was, that's his right!"

"Think he missed his calling as a photographer. Don't know what his music's like, but he's got a good eye. Seems to like being behind the camera as well. Only posts pictures of his mates and, like, nature and shit. Not a single selfie on here." Zayn scrolled a little further down before backing out and tapping the blue follow button. "You sure he's famous? Thought he'd do more of a Kardashian thing being a pop star and all."

"Mate, have you seen your own page? If it's not a tattoo or some artsy black-and-white thing, you're posting one of those stupid amateur model selfies you make me take."

"It's not a selfie if someone else takes it. Plus, people like them and it gets me more followers. And more followers means more tattoo bookings," Zayn replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and not at all hypocritical based on the way he'd been judging Harry.

"Whatever, you're running me off topic. That email from his manager? Twat said something about him being too stupid to remember their meeting yesterday. Really offensive corporate speak, the pretentious fuck."

"Why doesn't he get a new label, then?"

"Contracts, probably. I don't know. It just makes me so angry, yeah? Like, they were saying stuff about him being a brand, like he wasn't even a person anymore. But he _is_. And a really sweet one, at that."

"You really like him, don't you?"

"How could I not? Honestly, Z, I've gone all soft for him. Proper boyfriend shit and we've only been on one date. You know me—I don't normally go all starry eyed like this. There's something special about him."

Louis rolled his eyes at Zayn's fake gagging noises from the other side of the studio, tossing an unopened box of rubber gloves at him to make him shut up. Thankfully, Zayn's dramatics didn't last for long as he swung his legs to the side of the table, sitting up straight and grinning at the other artist to let him know he was only teasing.

"Just don't get too soppy on me, yeah? I want you to be happy, but not at the expense of me having to listen to you moon over the lad every second of every day." Zayn hopped off the table, stooping over to pick up the box of gloves and chucking it back at his mate. "And if he hurts you, I don't care how famous he is, I'll bury him." 

"Are you sure you're okay to come tonight, H?" Liam and Harry were walking towards the tube station nearest to the boxer's flat. "After everything that happened with the label, I don't want you getting in trouble for going to a fight. I doubt that's part of their idea of who 'Harry Styles' needs to be."

Harry, hands shoved angrily in his pockets as he stalked down the sidewalk next to his best friend, kicked at the cement with the toe of his trainer. Liam hefted his gym bag a little higher on his shoulder and looked over at the scowling singer.

"Yeah, well fuck them, honestly. If they think I'm such a terrible person and that people will hate me if I'm myself, then maybe they should just let me go." An angry tear slipped down his face and he wiped it away before Liam noticed. "But until they do, they're not going to stop me from supporting my best friend."

"I'm really glad you're coming, Harry, I am. I just don't want to see you getting hurt even more. I can tell how much the new label people have been getting under your skin. I'm scared of seeing you go to that dark place again."

Harry paused before responding, remembering a few years before when he'd felt his anxiety growing unmanageable and had slipped into a pretty deep depression. He'd been in the middle of his first tour and the fast pace of constant travel along with the demand to perform consistently every show, to put on a mask of confidence in front of the crowds, had left him exhausted. By the time that Liam and animals had realized how bad it had gotten, Harry was past the point of being able to help himself. He was either crying or manic whenever he wasn't actively working and was burnt out to the point of being ready to give up and quit music altogether. The boys had flown out to Chicago, intercepting his final leg of the tour, and had spent a few days riding along in the tour van while Harry slept or stared out the window, looking like he was dead inside.

By Detroit, they'd convinced him to get some professional help, and had helped him settle back in Los Angeles when his last show was over. After flying back home, Liam and Niall had taken turns checking in with him daily as he worked with his new psychiatrist to manage his anxiety with both therapy and medication. It was hard work, and some days he felt more exhausted than he had while on your, but after a few months head finally started to feel like he was in a healthier place.

"I remember enough of how it felt when that happened—I think I'll know if I start getting bad again. I promised you that I'd tell you if I felt it again, and I want you to know that I still promise. This is just—" he trailed off for a moment, trying to find the right words. They'd reached the tube station and had found seats in one of the less crowded cars. Harry closed his eyes as the spots of light in the tunnels flickered through the windows.

"Do you really think people wouldn't like me for being me? It's not that—I want to be someone who doesn't care if people like me or not, but it's so hard when so much of what I do is about how many people can like me. It's a constant pressure for more. And now I have all of these people with their reports and studies and market research telling me that who I am isn't good enough for people to like."

"H, you've just said it yourself, it's just about numbers for them. You could have a million people love you for being _you_ , but if they think they can get a million and one people buying your records for being _their_ version of you, well—" he trailed off, not wanting to finish his train of thought. Harry was upset enough at the thought of being forced to be someone else, and Liam didn't need to cement the fact in his head any more. "Who you are— _really_ are—is brilliant. And i wish you didn't have so many loud voices telling you otherwise."

Harry pulled Liam closer on the bench seat and leaned against his shoulder. He squeezed Liam's arm, holding it to his chest like it was a teddy bear.

"Are you nervous about tonight? Niall said something about the UFC people being there."

"I always get a little nervous until the fight starts. After that, the adrenaline kicks in and everything else just fades away. I think that's why I like fighting—it's just dangerous enough that it forces you to focus." His voice faded as the train stopped at the station just before the one they needed. "As for the UFC guys, they come to a lot of these fights. They recruit from some of the smaller leagues like this. I haven't applied or anything yet so I doubt they'll look to seriously at me. I'm still new to MMA."

"Well even if it's not tonight, I know you'll get there, Liam. You're one of the most dedicated and determined people I know."

Once they arrived at the warehouse venue where the fight was taking place, Harry was excited to see Louis standing a bit down the way, leaning casually against the bricks near one of the loading docks. The singer took hold of Liam's hand and pulled his friend towards the tattoo artist, only tripping twice in his excitement. Catching sight of the clumsy boy, Louis grinned and held out his arms for a hug. After greeting the pop star with a happy cuddle, the artist tucked one arm around Harry's waist and held the other out towards Liam for a handshake.

"Thanks for the invite, mate. Never been to one of these before."

Liam took his hand in a firm grip, chancing a quick look around. Harry gave him a knowing smirk, realizing that the fighter was looking for Louis's friend. Harry had laughed at his blushing friend while calling Louis after his meeting that afternoon. Liam's attempt to be casual with a "there are plenty of seats, mate, so if you want to bring anyone else—" didn't go by unnoticed by his best friend, and he thought the boxer's not-so-secret crush on the other artist was adorable.

"No worries, glad you could make it. H will be glad for the company since Niall's stuck up north this weekend. You boys will be alright if I pop in to drop off my stuff in the competitor's area and check in? I'll come back out and show you guys inside. I don't think they're letting people in yet, I had to be here a bit early."

"Go on, Li. We'll see you in a bit," Harry responded.

Once Liam had ducked in to the metal side door a few paces away, Harry turned back towards Louis and snuggled closer into the man's side. The artist brought a hand up to cup Harry's cheek and looked into his eyes with concern.

"I know you said it was fine, but I just want to make sure you're alright, love. Nothing too bad at the meeting?"

Harry sniffled and nodded, giving Louis an assuring smile.

"Yeah. I'm a bit cross about it—I don't like the way they're more controlling over here than they were back in California, but I get where they're coming from I suppose. It just sucks because I want to be myself. I feel like I'm lying to everyone."

"Well, I still say fuck 'em, babe. You be exactly who you're supposed to be 'cause that's more important than what any label says. And I know I've only known you for a bit, but I like to think I'm pretty good at reading people, and I'm positive that your fans will always love you for you."

Harry blushed as Louis pulled him down for a kiss. Between his and Liam's words today, he was feeling more confident than he had been while talking to the label. He could deal with the consequences, he'd rather let people decide to like him or not without pushing a false narrative even if it was more "generically appealing."

"Hey, leave room for Jesus," a sharp voice called over to them. "I don't care how cute you think he is, Tommo, this is public indecency."

Harry felt one of Louis's hands leave his waist and he broke away to see the artist flipping Zayn the bird, who'd just appeared from around the corner. As the dark-haired man flicked his cigarette end to the ground and scuffed it with the toe of his boot, Harry waved kindly in his direction.

"Hi, Zayn. It's good to see you."

"You too, Timberlake. Alright? Lou told me about the shit storm last night."

"Yeah, I'm alright. Thanks for asking." Zayn pulled the surprised pop star into a hug before doing the same to his best mate, messing up Louis's already messy hair for good measure.

"Where's your mate, then? Don't tell me you're out here snogging while he's in there getting all bloodied up." Zayn sat down on the curb while Louis took the spot next to him. Harry continued to stand. He was already a bit chilly and the cement didn't look very warm.

"He's just checking in but he'll be back out in a bit to take us inside. Have you ever been to a fight, Zayn? I know Louis said he hasn't but I wasn't sure about you."

"Nah, I'm not much for sport. But Lou figured you could use some fun tonight, so I'm tagging along."

"Yeah, because your grumpy arse is always just a bucket of sunshine," Louis teased. Zayn pretended to take offense which caused Harry to giggle, and before they knew it, the three of them had found themselves caught in a fit of contagious laughter. It wasn't even that funny, but Harry welcomed the happy feeling. Plus, he couldn't deny that Louis looked adorable with his eyes all crinkled up in a smile. Their laughter was cut short as the metal door swung back open and Liam appeared.

"Sorry, guys, took a bit longer than I thought. You can—" Liam stopped abruptly as he realized Harry and Louis were no longer alone, his face turning beet red. Harry snapped a quick photo of his two new friends as they looked towards the embarrassed fighter, wanting to hold on to the happiness he was feeling a little bit longer.

"All set, Liam? I forgot to mention, Zayn came along to watch. I hope you don't mind." Louis continued to grin, Harry having clued him in on his best mate's crush.

"Uh—nope, that's fine," he quickly muttered, shuffling over to the trio. "Didn't think you'd be into fighting. Why are you—shit, sorry, that was rude. I'm glad you made it. Good to see you again."

"Don't get too worked up, Muhammad Ali," Zayn responded, holding out a hand for the boxer to help him up off the ground. "I'm only here to provide some adult supervision. Bieber, here, doesn't need anymore scandal by getting caught with a punk's tongue down his throat."

"Fuck off, Z. You promised you'd be nice." Louis scolded, kicking at his friend's ankle as Harry helped pull him off the cement. Liam, meanwhile, helped Zayn to his feet.

"Alright, fine. I'm sure two people beating each other to a pulp will be a lovely thing to see." Just as Liam's face had returned to his normal shade of tan, the seemingly always smoldering artist shot him a wicked smirk and a wink, leaving the boxer stumbling over his thoughts once again. "Lead the way, Sonny Liston. I didn't come all the way out here to watch you from shit seats."


	6. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, there's some recreational drug use and a little adult action in this one. Swim at your own risk. ❤️
> 
> Also @OliviaJ, I didn't forget your warning this time—there's another Zayn picture coming your way. 😉

Harry was in the kitchen of his brand new flat wearing nothing but a chocolate covered apron. His hair was tucked up into a frizzy bun and his cheek had a stripe of flour smudged across it, though he was completely unaware in the midst of the chaos.

"It's a disaster in here, Niall," he whined over the speaker phone from where the device was tossed haphazardly on the counter. "The oven is baking everything unevenly and I've got splats of batter all over the walls. Jesus, there's even some on the ceiling! This is your fault, I hope you know. I'm blaming you."

He brought the back of his arm up to wipe at the sweat building up on his forehead, unknowingly smearing a streak of chocolate into his eyebrow.

"H, I'm sure it's fine. You're just making some treats for a boy who's already head over heels for you, and I guarantee he'll think they're delicious."

"It's not just for him, though," Harry wailed. The timer clipped to his apron began to beep as he yanked the last pan of his homemade brownies from the oven.

It had started off a little less than a week before at Zayn's flat for a night in, as Harry's management had all but banned the singer from being spotted at pubs and clubs until they had "steered his image back on course." While Louis and Harry still hadn't put a label on their relationship, much to Niall's annoyance, they were spending more of their free time together than apart. They were careful about not neglecting their friends, though, and so the five boys had been hanging out as a group at least once a week for the past month.

When Liam had pointed out that they'd been to everyone's flat except for Zayn's, the artist reluctantly agreed that he'd play host in his small studio. Unbeknownst to everyone except for Louis, that meant their normal bottle of Niall's favourite whiskey would be swapped for a grinder, a rolling tray, and a pack of papers. Before long, four of the five lads were giggling and red-eyed, sprawled out throughout the small space. The Irishman, having been digging through the sofa from his spot on the floor leaning against Harry's legs, triumphantly held the newly found remote over his head before turning on Bake Off.

"I hate you," Louis grumbled at Niall. "Now all I want is chocolate."

"Let me tweet at Noel Fielding and see if he'll bring us some." As the blonde whipped out his phone, thumbs tapping silently on the screen, Harry cuddled up further into Louis's side.

His eyelids felt heavy and the corners of his mouth kept creeping upwards towards the ceiling no matter how many times he tried to relax them. Louis took another drag from the spliff Zayn had handed him before holding it to Harry's lips as the singer had previously declared his hands to be useless for anything other than petting Louis's denim trousers. He liked the way his fingertips got all tingly the more he rubbed them against the fabric.

"Do you know him then?" Zayn had tipped backwards on his duvet, exhaling a heavy cloud of smoke as he spoke. Liam, who'd been leaning against the foot of the bed watching the other four dissolve slowly into their highs, snapped a photo and held it up for the artist to see. "Send that to me. I want to post it."

"Noel? He's got no idea who I am, but he seems like a nice enough lad to know when a growing boy's in need of cake. Plus, we're practically name twins."

As the boys continued to discuss the finer points of pastry, Harry watched the tendrils of smoke curl through the air, hazy beams of sunlight illuminating them until they were tactile enough that he could feel his thoughts wrapping around them. He took picture after picture, loving the shapes of white and grey that hung above their heads, sinking slowly around him the way he sank further and further into Louis's ribcage. His mind drifted towards wondering what it would feel like to melt so completely into the artist's chest that he'd be wrapped up inside Louis's lungs like the warm smoke they were inhaling.

His head was fuzzy as Louis's strong fingers came up to scratch through his tangled hair, and Harry relaxed into the touch. The whispered " _Hazza_ " every so often tickled his ear until he finally giggled, keening up against Louis's palm, feeling like he'd be purring contently if he were a cat. The artist grinned at the happy sound and pressed a soft kiss to Harry's temple.

"—probably get more business that way with a free homemade biscuit for every tattoo. I might even be inclined to get one. I love biscuits!" Harry tuned back in as Niall pitched his latest idea for 28ink. Louis and Zayn were always looking for ways to increase their bookings, but the Irishman's suggestions were usually shot down. To be fair, hiring exotic dancers for the entryway or training a monkey to place the stencils weren't exactly feasible. "You could run a promotion for the Bake Off finale next week."

"S'actually not bad, Ni," Louis mused. "I'm shit in the kitchen, though, and Zayn's helpless as well. Think anyone would mind a packet of Hobnobs instead?"

"Mate, you're dating a baker. Have Harry make them."

"Haz? You bake?" Louis pulled back a little so he could get a good look at the boy who'd practically merged into his baggy hoodie. As Harry sleepily nodded up at him, clutching the soft fabric of the sweatshirt until Louis tucked him back under his arm, Niall spoke up.

"He worked in a bakery before he went and got all famous. He's proper good. Seriously, mate, tweet it and I guarantee you'll get a ton of appointments. I'll even write it for you."

Niall grabbed Louis's phone from the side table where it was charging and swiftly unlocked it with the code he'd somehow sneakily observed. Harry and Liam had long since learned that none of their devices were safe from Niall.

" _In honour of the Bake Off finale, all tattoos next week get a free tasty pastry with their ink. Made from scratch by a secret celebrity baker and guaranteed to blow your socks off._ "

The blonde finished the artist's tweet with a series of hashtags and emojis before plugging the device back in and pulling out his own phone to retweet it.

And so Harry was in a baking frenzy, completely starkers because he'd been too frazzled to bother with clothes that morning—that and he'd always tended to prefer being nude when in the comfort of his own home—all because Niall's retweet had garnered enough attention for the tattoo shop that they were completely booked for the entire week. To top it off, most of the appointments were for small enough pieces that Harry had suddenly wound up needing to bake enough pastries to feed what he felt was a bigger turnout than most of his solo concerts.

Louis tried to reason with him—"Babe, you don't have to do this. Niall weed-tweeted it so he can go buy some cupcakes from Tesco's and we'll tell everyone they're homemade."—but Harry was adamant that even a small child would be able to tell the difference and that he didn't want to be responsible for a hoard of angry, freshly tattooed, new clients leaving bad reviews for the shop.

As he put the pan on the cooling rack, his phone lit up with another call.

"I've got to go, Ni. Louis's calling."

"Sure, sure. Just don't forget, you promised to save a brownie for me!"

Harry switched over to the other call, smearing chocolate batter across the screen.

"Hi, Lou," he said, his voice soft with the smile that always seemed to grow when he talked to the artist. No matter how chaotic he felt, there was a measure of comfort that he could always find with the older man.

"Hey, Haz. Alright?"

"Yeah, just baking. Almost done, though. How are you? Are you still coming over tonight?"

"That's actually why I'm calling. I'm guessing you didn't see my texts?" Harry's heart sank a bit. He'd been looking forward to a quiet night with Louis.

"No, I'm sorry. Did something come up?" He tried to keep the pout from his voice, but Louis's chuckle told him that he didn't do as well as he'd thought.

"Baby, I'm still going to see you tonight. I was just hoping a bit sooner than planned. The hot water went out at my place and I was hoping to steal a shower off of you before dinner?"

"Oh, good! I mean—well, it's not good that your heater broke, but I'm glad I still get to see you. And of course you can shower here! When are you coming over?"

"That's the thing, love. I took a chance when I didn't hear back and I'm already here. Could you buzz me up? I can wait in the lobby if it's too—"

"Don't be silly, Lou," Harry happily chirped. "You can come up."

Harry wiped his hands on the front of his apron and pressed the buzzer for the main door before quickly turning to try and tidy up some of the mess in the kitchen. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on the front door just to his left. He opened it, smiling brightly as he saw the blue-eyed man grinning back at him with a worn backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Did you get _any_ of the brownies in the oven, baby? It looks like most of it landed on you instead," he laughed.

"It's a bit of a disaster in here," Harry responded ruefully, folding himself into Louis's arms for a much-needed hug as the artist closed the door behind them. Louis's hands rested just above the apron strings as he ducked his head down and licked a bit of batter from Harry's collarbone, teeth nipping the slightest bit before he brought his lips back up for a kiss.

"Disaster tastes sweet," he murmured, teasing Harry's pout with the tip of his tongue. His hands slid further down, trailing over the singer's lower back before sliding softly over his bum. As his palms met bare skin, Louis froze, pulling his face back slightly so he could look at the now-blushing boy.

"I forgot?" Harry's hands fell, tugging the sides of the apron around his thighs though it did nothing to cover his backside. A wicked grin slid across Louis's face as he tightened his grip, taking a few careful steps forward until he had Harry pinned against the messy countertop.

"Naughty Hazza," he teased. "Do you always bake in the nude or is this a special occasion?"

Harry's hips jolted forward into Louis's as the tattoo artist cheekily pinched the pale skin under his fingertips.

"Just sometimes. I mean, I'm usually alone here, so I don't always bother with clothes—"

He was cut off as Louis suddenly turned the taller boy so he was facing the counter, tugging at his hips until the artist was grinding firmly against his bum. The kitchen suddenly felt much warmer and Harry was certain he couldn't blame the oven.

Louis dragged his teeth over the sensitive skin where Harry's neck met his shoulder, as his warm hands ran up the singer's sides and onto his soft stomach. His abs flinched at the feather-light touch and he arched his back, pushing further into the rough denim of Louis's already straining fly.

The artist nipped at his earlobe, smiling against Harry's neck. He tried to keep his composure, but he couldn't help the breathy groan as Louis sucked a bright red mark just under his ear.

"Lou, please—"

"What do you want, baby? Tell me what you need."

"Just—" he broke off, inhaling sharply as he felt a warm hand slide to the base of his belly.

"Can I, love?" His fingers twitched just above where Harry's apron was now obscenely tented, waiting for the singer's consent.

Despite Harry's previous insistence that they didn't need to go slow, Louis had been wary of pushing the younger boy past his comfort level and had gently stopped them from moving further than some intense kissing and heavy petting. The closest they'd gotten to anything below the belt was when they'd both come undone in the back room of the shop as Louis whispered wicked things in Harry's ear, with the singer rubbing against the artist while getting nothing but fingers teasing the tight hemline of his trousers in return. Afterwards, they'd snuck upstairs to change and clean up before Harry napped in the artist's bed while he returned downstairs for his next appointment.

Now, though, Louis's palm was mere centimeters away from where Harry was aching to have him as he nodded desperately.

"Yes! Please, Lou."

Before Harry had a chance to take another breath, Louis's hand closed around his length, fingers tugging firmly. Harry's knuckles were white against the countertop as he quietly panted.

Louis continued his messy assault of lips and teeth and tongue on the strong column of Harry's neck, tasting the salty sweat that began to build the closer he got to falling apart under the Louis's skilled hands. Weeks of teasing from the unfairly attractive tattoo artist meant that Harry was already at the finish line when the race had barely started.

"Louis! Fuck, I'm going to—" He gasped as Louis twisted his wrist in just the right way, his other hand in a firm-yet-soft grip around Harry's throat, holding the boy's head to the side so he could better reach his neck.

"That's it, Hazza. Let go. I've got you, love."

As Harry shuddered in Louis's arms, spilling over the artist's hand and the fabric of the apron, Louis groaned and rutted his hips against Harry, growing even harder at the feeling of his boy coming undone.

After a few moments of quiet while Harry caught his breath and the artist brushed soothing kisses over the pink skin of his neck and shoulder, he turned in Louis's arms and collapsed into his embrace.

"I'm going to have to bake another batch. That violated, like, fourteen different health codes." Louis chuckled, wiping his sticky palm on the corner of the apron before tugging the ties loose and pulling the garment over Harry's head.

"We'll give them to Niall, and I'll help you make more later," he said, leading Harry backwards through the flat with both hands. "Right now, I want to get my boy cleaned up."

"But what about you," Harry responded, nodding down at the fairly significant bulge in the front of Louis's trousers. "I could, you know, _help_."

Louis grinned, rocking up on his toes to kiss the blushing singer once again, playfully tugging at his lower lip with his teeth.

"You promised me a warm shower, love. I intend to take you up on that," he said with a cheeky wink, "and I'm sure there's plenty of fun for us both if we share."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, it was a bit of a rough week for me. I decided to get out of my head for a bit (safely and responsibly) with a little smoking of my own and ended up with this chapter (good lord, the amount of proof reading I had to do afterwards). I know it's not for everyone, but I decided to post it anyways because I kept coming back to it every time I tried to write around it. There's more plot coming soon, though. Pinky swear.


	7. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy an abundance of italics and my overuse of the em dash (honestly, I need help, it's my favorite punctuation mark), along with me getting distracted and indulging myself by playing my own game of Spotify Shuffle at the end.

"This type of behaviour _has_ to stop. Your representation of the Harry Styles brand—"

"But I'm _not_ just a brand. I'm a person, and I have opinions and thoughts and emotions!" Harry had found himself back at his new label's office, sitting across a conference table from his manager, his agent, and two of his publicists. Unsurprisingly, they weren't pleased with his latest Instagram posts along with the speculative comments from fans that had followed.

"No one is arguing that you're not a person, Harry, but the fact still remains that your career is based on representing a brand that our company has created and a brand that we intend to continue shaping here in Europe. When you're in public or when you're making public posts, you aren't just yourself—you're _Harry Styles, rising star_." The singer tried his best to not scoff at his manager's description of who he was, knowing that he was already on the losing side of the argument and doing so wouldn't win him any favours.

"I just don't understand why this is suddenly becoming a problem. They didn't care about me going out with friends or the way I posted things when I lived in LA."

"The market in the states is different, Harry," his publicist interjected, her tone kinder than his manager's but nonetheless stern. "Beyond that, you're still developing your fan base. If you wanted stagnancy, we wouldn't put so much pressure on what you're doing. But you're gearing up towards a third album release and an international headlining tour, and that means increasing sales—increasing the number of fans. These things weren't as crucial before because you were reaching a smaller audience, but we need to expand on that now. Our team has done countless growth projections and we're pushing this image because it's the most profitable and mutually beneficial. We _want_ you to succeed. We're not trying to fight you."

Harry was quiet for a moment, trying to hold back the frustration he was feeling. He understood the business aspect of it, but that didn't mean he wanted to lose himself for the sake of selling more records and concert tickets.

"I get that, I really do. And I'm not trying to be difficult, but I just—I want to be authentic to myself. My fans and my music are important to me, and honesty is such a big factor in that for me. I want to be honest about who I am."

"We're not asking you to lie," his manager said, pursing his lips and leaning forward with his elbows on the table as he stared at the frustrated singer. "Authenticity sells well—it's why we don't have an issue with you being in touch with your feminine side, to an extent that is, or the whole gay thing—"

"Excuse me? The ' _whole gay thing_?'" Harry lost it, tears that he couldn't hold back any longer welling up. "It's not a _thing_ , it's who I am."

"Exactly! That's why we're fine with you not hiding it. We're just asking you to reign in some of your more, let's say, _unsavory_ activities. Being gay is fine, but being associated with sex and alcohol, and now smoking? And that poem didn't help—cigarettes are one thing, but people are thinking you were high." Harry kept his mouth shut, not wanting to make things worse by correcting him. "We need a more pure and innocent Harry, a wholesome Harry, if you will. Authentic, sure, but filtered. Do you remember Miley Cyrus? We're trying to avoid that sort of spectacle."

"But she's one of the most successful artists of our generation. I'd be lucky to be at her level." Wiping at his face with the tissue his agent sympathetically offered, Harry shook his head in confusion.

"Successful, yes, but she's painted herself into a corner. She went from Disney Princess to this niche of a drug-addict lesbian who will take her top off and slag it up at the drop of a hat. For as many fans as she has, she's got twice as many people who can't stand her."

"She's not a drug-addict lesbian—" Harry protested, offended at the way his manager was making offensive stereotypes.

"Fine, _pansexual_ or whatever the trend is. Semantics." He threw his hands up in defense, rolling his eyes at the singer's correction. "Regardless, we need to nip this in the bud before it spirals. If this continues, you'll lose access to your social accounts and we'll take over managing them. I don't want it to come to that, and I'm sure you don't either, but we have a contract and we _will_ step in if we feel that you're no longer acting in the best interest of the brand."

As his manager picked up his phone and began responding to one of the many emails that kept causing the device to buzz loudly from where it had been sat on the table, one of the publicists pulled up a familiar Instagram profile on her tablet, sliding it across for Harry to see.

"Next, we need to talk about this. Who's Zayn? Fans are speculating that the two of you are together."

"I'm not dating _him_. He's just a friend—"

"Oh God, don't tell me you're hooking up with the white one," his manager drawled, looking up with a disgusted expression. Harry turned back to his publicist, noticing the panic in her own face.

"Louis Tomlinson," she asked, mispronouncing his first name. When Harry nodded reluctantly, she frowned, taking the tablet back to pull up the other artist's profile. "I could've worked with Zayn, but Louis is—well, problematic."

"Fucking hell, I mean—" his manager pointed at the recently posted photo of Louis flipping off the camera that was now filling the screen, "this is _not_ the type of person we need you linked to."

Harry's heart clenched. He knew labels could usually find a way to control who their artists publically dated, but Harry hadn't ever been close to a serious relationship since he'd been signed and the idea of them putting restrictions on him moving forward with Louis terrified him.

"He was just upset," the pop star defended. "It was the morning I'd gotten in trouble about the wine photo and I'd gotten emotional. He was just feeling protective of me."

"That post was directed at the label?" The publicist's face blanched as she reread the caption looking for some kind of link back to them, concerned over potential defamation.

"I'd cried, and he cares about me. He was angry."

"So tell him to punch a wall. Don't post about it for the world to see," his manager spat. "You're going to need to bring him in for a meeting with the PR team as soon as possible if you want to even think about continuing to see him, before something leaks and you end up tied to this— _punk_. Call and see if he's available this afternoon."

When Louis strolled into the label office with a scowl a few hours later, his face softening just long enough to pull Harry in for a warm hug before the walls went back up, Harry had a feeling that the tattoo artist wasn't going to appreciate what the singer's management team was about to address. Needless to say, the meeting did not go well.

As Harry walked into the BBC Broadcasting House building a week or so later, ducking in quickly to escape the brisk morning air with the rest of his friends, he was doing his best to put on a cheerful face. When Niall had told them all that he'd been given a podcast and wanted them to join him—"This season is a trial run to see how I do and I want you guys there for the first episode. I think I'll be more relaxed if we're talking like we're all hanging out. I'm just nervous about being on the air and _not_ talking about sport for once."—they'd all quickly agreed out of support. Harry's involvement was unsurprisingly nixed, though, once he'd run the idea past his label. They weren't as keen on their _rising star_ chatting on a brand new podcast with some of the very people "responsible" for his latest infractions. He still promised Niall that he'd be there to support him, at least, even if he wasn't allowed to talk.

"Alright, love?" Louis reached over and squeezed the boy's hand as they walked up the steps towards the studio. Harry plastered his smile on a little more firmly and nodded. Despite his best attempts, Louis's knowing look told him the artist could tell that the singer was carrying a little more weight on his shoulders than he cared for.

Instead of mentioning it again, though, Louis just slung his arm around Harry's shoulders, tucking him close to his side and pressing a quick kiss to the younger boy's temple. As Niall ushered them into the mostly empty sound booth, already set up with four microphones and five headsets, the Irishman spoke quietly with one of the technicians while the others found their seats. Harry tucked himself into a spot in the corner of the room, opting to sit a bit further away so he could watch while his friends recorded and not risk getting picked up on the mics.

Once they were all settled with their waters, coffees, and teas—graciously provided by a mousy intern that seemed to have a bit of a crush on the blonde radio host if the way her cheeks turned pink when he grinned at her in thanks was any indication—the technician disappeared into the adjoining studio where she'd be monitoring the audio and controlling the recording.

"Okay, lads," Niall said, clapping his hands together like a primary school teacher, "thanks again for agreeing to this. It'll be pretty simple, we'll just chat a bit like we talked about—free flow and all—and if you mess up big, just pause for a few seconds to give us some room to edit in post and start again."

"And you're going to be asking us questions?" Zayn, despite his usual confidence and couldn't-give-a-fuck attitude, looked a little pallid with nerves. He sat in between Liam and Louis behind the curved table, but Harry could still see his knee bouncing in a jittery manner.

"I've got a few to help keep things moving, but you can all feel free to jump in when you have something to say. I want this to be conversational—all friendly and casual, right? Just like when we're hanging out." Niall fiddled with the arm of his mic, pulling it a bit further down so he could see over the top of it, as Louis clapped a hand onto Zayn's shoulder.

"Just be normal, Z. I know people usually only like you for your pretty face," the artist joked, "but you've got a brain buried deep under that perfect hair as well."

"Don't listen to him," Liam said softly as Zayn turned to bat Louis's hand away with a huff, "you're great to talk to. You're really smart but, like, not in a pretentious way."

Harry didn't miss his friend's blush as Zayn shot the boxer a small, thankful smile.

"Be nice, Lou," the pop star reminded. He knew the pair were like brothers, always teasing and poking fun, but Harry was all too aware of what it felt like to be nervous and didn't want Zayn to feel self-critical about a shaky voice in an interview. He'd been there before.

Louis smiled apologetically at Harry before nudging Zayn's shoulder. "Only joking, Z. If anyone's going to make an arse out of himself, it'll be me. You've heard me playing customer service with clients—I'm right shit at talking nice. Christ, am I even allowed to swear on this, Niall?"

The Irishman grinned. "Course you are, mate. You think I'd last with that rule? Speaking of rules—H, are you sure this is alright? We'll keep your name out of it, but it'll be pretty easy to figure out who we're talking about. People know we're friends."

"I'm sure," Harry said, nodding.

"Hazza, you know this is just going to stir the pot. I don't want that prick screaming at you again," Louis added. Sure, he was more than willing to run over "JR: Manager-Slash-Satan" with a big, red, double-decker bus, but he's come to learn that Harry was contractually obligated to work with the label for one more album and tour. And barring the pop star moving back to the Los Angeles branch, he was stuck with his management team until the contract ended, regardless of how dehumanizing they were to him.

"I know, but it's not going to get any better and I'm—I'm just not willing to hide."

They all nodded, having spent several days discussing the episode as a group along with Harry's dilemma. They could all see their friend struggling with the idea of hiding parts of himself away and presenting what he felt was a false persona, especially when his management team had encouraged Harry to lead his fans to believe he was seeing Zayn following the somewhat disastrous meeting at the label with Louis.

"It's not _lying_ , Harry. It's just leading them to a conclusion. You don't have to outright say you're dating him, and we're not stopping you from shagging this _gentleman_ ," his manager had said, eyeing Louis with disdain. "Just limit the public outings to when you're in a group, and a couple photos of Zayn wouldn't hurt."

Harry had just managed to stop Louis from chucking the glass of water he'd been holding at JR's head, and to be honest, he'd questioned if he'd even wanted to. Afterwards, once they'd all gathered in Harry's flat, the artist had held his boy while he'd cried as the rest of his friends made their best attempts to cheer him up despite their own anger at the situation.

That had led to a somewhat devious plan to stick it to the label, rally fans around Harry, and give Niall a great first topic for his new podcast that was sure to garner some attention. As long as they were tactful and coy about it—"Listen, lads, we just have to keep it vague enough to keep from getting sued or you're all responsible for feeding and housing me when I get fired."—Niall was quick to agree when Liam had first brought up the idea.

Back in the studio as the tech nodded at Niall from the other side of the glass, indicating that the recording had started, the boys fell silent and let the Irishman introduce them.

"Hi all, it's Niall. You might know me from sports radio over on BBC 5, but I'm here today recording my brand new podcast. Branching out a bit from my normal radio life to talk about anything and everything. Today, we're talking about public image and to help me out, I've brought a few friends into the studio. First, we've got two new but nonetheless dear mates, Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik. Why don't you say hello and tell us a bit about yourselves."

"Uh, hello," Louis said, with Zayn parroting the greeting softly into his own microphone. "I'm Louis. And that was my best mate, Zayn. We're local tattoo artists over at 28ink in Camden. Um, we met Niall and his mates a bit ago and got along well enough, I s'pose. He's a right laugh, that one."

"Too kind, Tommo. ' _Got along well enough_ ,' my arse. You love me, admit it," Niall teased, flipping off Louis as the artist did the same in return. "You can't see it, people, but he just did those little heart hands at me. What a sweet lad."

"Sod off, I did not."

" _Anyways_ , I've also got one of my best mates here, Mr. Liam Payne. Li, want to say hi?" Niall gestured for Liam to introduce himself.

"Hi—erm, hello. I'm Liam."

"Tell us about yourself, Li. What do you do for a living," Niall urged.

"I'm a fighter. Grew up boxing, now I'm doing MMA. Just small leagues—local mostly. Pays the bills, though."

"He's being modest. He's a proper menace in the ring," Louis interjected. "This one's going to make it big."

"You've got that right," Niall said. "Aside from these three, we've got another special guest here in the studio. He's not mic'd up for some reasons applicable to our topic today, but we wanted him here regardless. He's a crucial part of our group and it wouldn't be the same without him. Besides, we've got a bit of a game to play later in the episode and knowing this lot, we're going to need a referee."

"If anyone needs a referee, it's you," Zayn muttered. "We just played Shots and Scrabble with you last weekend and you're a cheat."

"Listen, mate, 'crossy' is a word and that's a hill I'll die on," Niall shot back. "Regardless, my extensive vocabulary isn't what we're here to talk about. We're talking about public image today. We've all had our own experiences in one way or another with it, trying to balance the face that we put out for the world to see while still being authentic."

Niall took a quick sip of water before continuing, glancing at the printed outline he'd brought to help make sure they hit all of the points they wanted to make.

"Zayn, you've been someone who's put some thought into your public image. When we started hanging out, Louis and I liked to take the piss at your Instagram account. Aside from photos of your tattoos and art, you're big into the, as Tommo likes to put it, 'moody and broody' selfies." He nodded at Zayn to pick up where he'd stopped. The artist took a deep breath to calm his nerves before leaning into his microphone.

"Yeah, I mean, I guess it's an aesthetic thing? Like, you hear that word thrown around a lot for socials nowadays but it's something I think about, especially as an artist. I make my money tattooing, and an occasional commission here and there, so how I present myself as an artist literally impacts my living. Instagram has been huge for that, right? My account isn't just a portfolio of my work. It's, as a whole, an extension of my art." He paused, looking at Liam who gave him a small smile and a nod to continue. "The moods and themes that I put on my account, the pieces that I choose to post, the _whatever_ broody pictures—they all help feed into that aesthetic. And then clients connect with that aesthetic and that side of my artistry. That's kind of the whole point of art. Conveying emotion for people to connect with, yeah?"

"That makes sense. So you use your account, your public image, almost like a giant canvas to show who you are as an artist," Niall summarized, smiling at Zayn.

"That's a good way to put it."

"Doesn't hurt that he's got a face for the camera, now, does it," Louis teased again.

"And you don't? Last I saw, you managed to snag yourself quite a catch with your own looks, Tomlinson," Zayn shot back cheekily as Louis flashed a grin at Harry from across the room. "But you don't use your account in the same way I do. Like, you feature your ink and shit, but your art is more tied to your personality, where my personality is tied to my art. I think that comes through in how you book clients as well. I mean, there are loads of equally amazing traditional-style artists out there but you still get a ton of word of mouth business and repeat clients. Way more than me, at least."

"It's the sass," Niall gleefully added.

"Oi, Zayn's got more sass than me," Louis retorted.

"It's true, Louis," Liam replied. "You treat everyone like they're your mate right away. You don't filter yourself—you show who you are and you're upfront and honest about it, and people connect with that."

"Well yeah, that's the thing, innit? About public image," Louis said, seeing his chance to segue. He locked eyes with Harry as he continued. "I want people to see who I am as a person. Even if Zayn and I have very different styles, our art is tied to who we are and so putting ourselves out there, authentically, that's pretty crucial as an artist. I think it's important that people aren't thinking I'm something that I'm not. I don't want to hide parts of myself just because some people might not like it. I think the people that like me for who I am, completely, deserve to be able to see that."

"We know someone who's struggling with that right now, don't we, lads," Niall said with a smirk.

"We've got a friend who's very much in the public eye, a bit more so than the rest of us," Liam pitched in. "We're really close, but I think I can still say that there's not much about him that people wouldn't like."

"He makes shit jokes, sometimes. Really bad with puns, that one," Louis said, though his fond tone contradicted his words as Harry stuck his tongue out at the artist.

"I can say I judged him a bit unfairly at first, just based on what I knew about him. Without really knowing him, yeah? Just like anyone would who only sees him through media. But when I got to know him, he's actually really sick," Zayn said.

"Yeah, and he's always been pretty authentic on media. Like, he's got a job where he gets to express himself in a really raw way, and I think people have connected with that. But as he's gotten more attention, he's losing a lot of that freedom." Liam said, choosing his words carefully. "He's got people in his life who want to push an image of him that isn't really true to himself. They're even going so far as to wanting him to make people believe he's in a relationship with someone else because they don't think the person he's really with is good for that image."

"It's fucked," Zayn said, a bit bitterly in defense of his friend.

"From their perspective, and I'm not saying I agree with it in the slightest, but it's only fair to put it out there since they're not here to defend themselves," Niall said with a bit of a grimace, "they think their image will help his success. He'd started out going in that direction, but the way he is now is a bit different than who he was five years ago."

"Well yeah, everyone grows up, don't they," Louis scoffed into the mic, taking a sip of tea. "Sixteen-year-old Louis Tomlinson was a lot different than twenty-one-year-old Louis. It's only natural that people change a bit. And just because _they_ don't like who he is now doesn't mean that other people won't or that he's a bad person."

"It should be his choice—" Liam agreed, "success as their version versus success as himself. Just like it should be his fans' choice to like who he actually is rather than being fed a lie. He just wants to be honest. Authentic to himself."

"And not get in trouble for taking a photo with fan at a pub, or you know, talking about his feelings for his actual boyfriend," Louis retorted. His frustration melted when he looked over at Harry and saw the fond smile that had taken over the singer's face. He hadn't realized that he'd called himself Harry's boyfriend as the words flowed naturally in the moment, but the excited series of slaps to his shoulder from Niall, who'd somehow—and quite skillfully—managed to launch himself silently across the surface of the table, told him that he'd finally defined their relationship. And though he felt bad that he hadn't exactly talked about it with Harry beforehand, he had a sneaking suspicion that the pop star was more than okay with it based on the flush that had taken over his new boyfriend's cheeks and the way he was shyly biting his lip like he was ten seconds away from pulling a Niall and sliding across the desk to sit himself in Louis's lap.

Putting aside the excitement of the semi-official "DTR" that Niall had been begging for the better part of the past month, the group continued to discuss the concept of public image while passively pleading Harry's case against his management until it was time to wrap up the episode. The radio host had come up with the idea to play a short game with his guests to help keep things on the lighter side, and following a particularly aggressive fight for control over the Bluetooth speakers during one of the nights they were all hanging out, Liam had suggested a "battle of the playlist" would be fun.

"Okay, lads, the rules of the game are pretty simple. There will be five rounds. Pull out your phones and open your preferred music app. We're each going to hit the shuffle button once—no skipping. I'm watching you, Malik. Once we've all got our songs, we're each going to have thirty seconds to argue why it should win the round before we all vote, and you can't vote for your own song. If there's a tie, our tiebreaker is the unnamed guest in the corner over there, looking all starry eyed at Louis which is a bit unfair, but it's too late for us to find someone else. Any questions?"

As the boys all responded into their respective microphones and pulled out their cells, Niall shot them a thumbs up.

"Great, I'll go first. Anyone listening at home, we're going to have to do some creative editing here because this show's brand new and our budget isn't going to cover the copyright. Great content, this. Ready, lads?"

Niall hit the shuffle button in his library, grinning as the first notes tumbled out of his phone's speaker. He let it play for a few seconds, fast forwarding a bit to the chorus so the boys could have a listen, before pausing it and leaning back into the mic.

"Alright, so my first song was Macklemore's _Growing Up_ , featuring a very dear, very talented Ed Sheeran. Now, Liam and I have had the pleasure of spending some time with Ed while our friend, Harry Styles, toured with him—what, was it two years ago, now? Anyways, Ed is a lovely lad, always up for a laugh and a few rounds—"

"That's name dropping," Louis teased.

"Come off it, it's my turn and I'll name drop as I please! As I was saying, not only does this song feature the angelic vocals of a certain lovely ginger, it tells a beautiful story with its lyrics and I could honestly listen to Macklemore whisper rhythmic rhymes into my eardrums for an entire day."

"' _Whisper rhythmic rhymes_ ,'" Zayn cut in as Harry clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the loud honking laugh he'd let loose at the blonde's ridiculous review.

Despite Niall's passionate defense of his randomly selected song, Liam still took the first round with _Rocket Fuel_ by DJ Shadow after convincing Zayn that the unofficial ode to 90's hip hop deserved more recognition than Louis's aggressive punk ballad.

"Never thought I'd see the day, Bene-dick Arnold. You love Zebrahead," Louis had muttered, rolling his eyes at Zayn's obvious crush on Liam no matter how much the other artist insisted that he "didn't go for jocks."

Thankfully, Niall didn't have too long to pout over his loss when he won the second round with Bil Bev DeVoe's _Poison_. Though Zayn tried to maintain some of his street cred—especially after his shuffle pulled up a Neutral Milk Hotel song that Louis deemed the most "stereotypical hipster band" once his own song was unofficially disqualified by Harry because it was about violating a restraining order—even he couldn't help but dance along to Niall's pick. Zayn ended up winning the next round, though, with _Riot_ by Three Days Grace after Louis's impromptu headbanging lesson during the chorus.

Louis finally won during the fourth round when his shuffle landed on _Kiwi_ by "fuck you, that's cheating," as Niall so eloquently announced at the start of the artist's turn. Louis waived his thirty-seconds with a victory dance after telling the rest of the group that the singer would never forgive them if they chose another song as the winner, despite Harry continually rolling his eyes and shaking his head emphatically at his boyfriend's antics. Since they had an overall tie, Niall determined that the ultimate winner of the game would be decided with a final round.

"This last round is for all of the bragging rights, and control of the AUX cord next time we all get together. There will be no debates this time—our super secret guest will be choosing the winner based on just the song alone. Got it, lads?"

They all agreed, pressing shuffle on their phones and pulling up their respective songs for the final round. Harry noticed the blush on Louis's face immediately, but nodded at Niall who started playing _Worlds On Fire_ by Zerbin. Since the sound was going to be cut anyways, they all ended up ditching their headphones and dancing in their seats to the catchy beat, with Louis gesturing Harry over towards him and finally tugging the singer onto his lap. He traced the red heart on the pocket of Harry's grey shirt, laughing as the pop star nipped the tip of his nose before chasing it with a kiss.

When Liam's _Up & Away_ by Can't Stop Won't Stop played, they all ended up out of their seats as Louis, Liam, and Zayn tried not to die while watching Niall and Harry battle it out in an enthusiastic twerk-off. Thankfully, they all had a chance to catch their breath when Zayn pressed the play button on TWIN XL's _Messy_. Harry relaxed with his back against Louis's chest as the tattoo artist stood on his toes to hook his chin over the singer's shoulder, tapping his fingers to the beat on Harry's hips.

As the song faded out and Niall hit the play button on the track queued up to Louis's Spotify account, Louis ducked his face into Harry's neck as he spun his boyfriend around in his arms. Harry grinned, leaning down to kiss Louis quickly as he swayed them back and forth in a sweet and slow dance. They didn't miss the Irishman's attempt to play Cupid by pushing Zayn towards Liam, the boxer turning beet red as Zayn teasingly led him through what could only be described as a terrible 3-count waltz to a 4-count song. 

When the song ended, Niall quieted them all down so he could close out the first episode of the podcast by begrudgingly declaring Louis as the winner of the game, "because the super secret guest judge is biased even though he insists it's only that he's a sucker for the ukulele."

Smiling into the soft fabric of Harry's shirt, Louis couldn't have been any happier. It had nothing to do with his victory and everything to do with the boy who'd all but collapsed into his arms as they cuddled up together in the studio, surrounded by the best friends they could've asked for.


	8. seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as requested, here's a little extra zayn and liam :) made some excellent progress on later chapters over my mini break, so now i just have to figure out a way to get there.
> 
> i hope everyone has (or had) a happy holiday. it's been a bit rough this year, this month especially, so please practice some self care if you're needing it. a little relaxing is always nice.

It only took two days after the podcast went live for “#honestharry” and “#larrystylinson” to start trending. From the time Niall had noticed and had texted the group to tell them about the hashtags, it had only taken Harry’s management another four hours for him to get a series of phone calls, emails, and text messages. He’d been expecting them and had promptly ignored them all by turning off his phone, which may have been a bit childish but he couldn’t be bothered. He was still riding on the high of his friends helping him plead his case to the public and he didn’t want to ruin it by another series of meetings belittling him about not being “Harry Styles.”

“Now he’s saying it’s my job, and I’m being unprofessional by not responding. That I’m acting ‘like a spoiled diva,’” Harry murmured, looking down at his phone screen from his spot perched on the counter by Louis’s station. He’d been hanging out at the shop that day with Louis and Zayn and had even convinced his boyfriend to tattoo a small cross on his hand, near his thumb.

“ _ You’re _ being unprofessional? He’s the one who’s treating you—has he ever even heard of a toxic work environment?” Louis sprayed down the part of the countertop that Harry wasn’t sitting on to sanitize it, rubbing angrily at a stubborn spot of ink. “Zayn’s more of a diva than you, love.”

“Oi, I’m not a diva. I’m just particular,” the other artist said from the hallway near the break room where he was sweeping.

“Is that what we’re calling high maintenance, now?  _ Particular _ ?” Louis grinned and ducked behind the tattoo table as an empty box of sponges came flying towards his head.

“Shut up. You don’t complain when I send back your takeaway because they forgot your chip sauce.”

“That’s because I love chip sauce so I don’t mind you going a little diva to get it.”

Zayn dropped the broom and raised both arms in victory as Harry scooped up the empty box that Zayn had thrown, taking it upon himself to bounce it off his boyfriend’s head as he was still ducking behind the padded table.

“Score one for George Michael,” Zayn laughed. “So, are we just heading straight from here or did you need to stop at home first, Harry?”

“Oh, are we going somewhere tonight? Lou hadn’t mentioned,” Harry responded, puzzled. When Louis poked his head up and looked at Zayn with equal confusion, the artist continued.

“I just meant Liam’s fight. I thought we’d be—” He trailed off, blushing as he realized that neither of them had planned on watching. Or worse, they hadn’t noticed when Liam had mentioned it, and Zayn would never hear the end of it from Louis no matter how many times he tried to get it through to his best friend that it wasn’t a crush. “Sorry, I just figured—”

Harry quickly pulled Louis back against the counter so he could wrap his arms around the man and slap a hand over his mouth before any teasing could occur.

“That’s really sweet, Zayn. I’m still not used to being able to go, so I honestly forgot he had one tonight. What time is it at? We can just go from here.”

By the time they had everything sorted out, with Niall providing the time and the location as Zayn was adamant he hadn’t paid  _ that _ much attention, the three of them were making their way into the gym where Niall had already reserved four folding chairs in the front row by laying across them on his stomach.

“Comfy, Nialler?” Harry asked in greeting as he pulled up the blonde into a hug.

“About time, lads. Payno’s already in the back, but he’s pretty early on in the line up so we should be seeing him soon.”

Louis sat on the end next to Harry, the singer having sat himself into the middle two seats with Zayn. The tattoo artist leaned over his boyfriend and best mate to talk to the radio host.

“Z said this was a big fight, yeah?” He ignored the slap to his wrist that Zayn had landed, pulling his arm back to tuck it comfortably around Harry’s shoulders.

“Yeah, Li’s been a bit nervous. It’s a big purse which always ups the stakes, but there are more UFC scouts tonight. The guy he’s fighting has a different style, so they’re wanting to see how he does. But if it goes well there’s a good chance he’ll be drafted, at least from what Liam said his coach said after he’d gotten a call from the scouts.”

“What do you mean by a different style,” Zayn questioned.

“Well, it’s MMA—Mixed Martial Arts—so that’s Karate, Judo, Wrestling, Muay Thai, and all sorts of other fighting styles. A lot of MMA fighters didn’t grow up training for MMA, they had one type of fighting style that they focused on. For Liam, he grew up boxing, but the guy he’s fighting tonight is really ace at BJJ.”

Louis snorted at the name, and though Harry gave him a playful slap, the singer couldn’t help but giggle either.

“Minds out of the gutter, lads. It’s Brazilian Jiu Jitsu,” the blonde interjected before turning his attention back to Zayn. “Since Liam’s a boxer, he’s going to want to keep the fight off the ground or he’ll be gassed because the other guy’s got grappling stamina for days and deadly holds. But Liam’s got a ton of power and great footwork if he can keep from getting taken down.”

The friends settled into their seats as they watched the first two matches before Liam’s, Harry noticed how much Zayn was wincing with every punch and kick that the fighters landed.

“Are you okay,” he whispered to the artist.

“It just looks like it hurts—I don’t get why anyone does this.” Before Harry had a chance to respond, one of the fighters brought an arm up to block an oncoming kick and the small crowd fell silent as they watched his shin bend unnaturally below the knee. The fighter immediately fell to the mat in pain, dodging the last few punches while medics and other staff ran into the cage. Zayn’s face paled the way that one of his clients would before they passed out and Louis quickly thrust a bottle of water in his direction.

“Well, fuck. That’s going to be a tough one to come back from,” Niall quipped while patting Zayn between his shoulders.

“And Liam’s going to be okay. This sort of thing hardly ever happens—a freak accident,” Harry soothed, holding back his own nausea as they watched the injured fighter being carted towards a set of doors on the other side of the gym as the judges declared the other competitor as the winner by TKO. Before they had a chance to relax, the next pair of fighters were being led up from the back and the other three couldn’t miss the way Zayn’s fists clenched against his thighs as they saw Liam walking next to his coach.

As their seats were in the front this time and right next to Liam’s corner, he stopped a few feet away from them at the entrance to the cage. Liam frowned when he saw Zayn’s distress, nodding at him in question towards his friends.

“Pretty bad fight before this and Z got a bit queasy. He’ll be alright, though,” Niall called over as one of the staff pulled Liam’s hands up to make sure his fingernails were cut short enough. “Kill it, Payno. You’ve got this!”

With Niall continuing to cheer loudly, Harry explained what was happening to the two tattoo artists as Louis tried to figure out why the man was now rubbing ointment over Liam’s forehead and cheeks.

“It’s just Vaseline to keep him from bleeding too much if he gets hit there. Bit useless with blood in the eyes, really.”

Niall jumped to his feet, yanking Zayn up with him, as Liam stepped onto the mat. The boxer nodded once at his competitor as the referee spoke between them, bumping his fist instead of a handshake before taking a step back and dropping into a fighting stance. He kept his hands in lose fists in front of his face as he shifted his weight back and forth between his feet. Zayn didn’t know what he was looking for, but he saw Liam’s eyes laser-focused on his opponent. In a flurry of quick movements, the other fighter dashed forward with a lunge and landed a few punches to Liam’s ribs as the boxer parried with a solid uppercut and a knee to the man’s liver. They separated, continuing to dance lightly in a circle around the cage and exchanging jabs. With only a few seconds left in the first round, Zayn yelped as the slightly smaller fighter managed to trip Liam, wrapping around him instantly with the quickness of a snake and pulling against the larger fighter’s limbs until Liam was sprawled out on top of him, grabbing at the man’s arms around his neck.

“He can’t breathe—is that legal?” Zayn was panicked, digging his elbow into Niall’s side as the bell rang and Liam stumbled back towards his corner.

“It’s legal. That’s why Liam wants to keep the fight off the ground. It takes a lot of his energy, and it’ll score the other guy a lot of points if it goes to decision.” Zayn nodded, remembering how Liam’s last fight had gone to decision when neither fighter had been knocked out by the end of the match. While he’d been able to see the fight before, it hadn’t looked this bad when they’d been sitting further back, reminding him more of the Rock‘Em Sock‘Em Robots he and Louis used to play as kids rather than the type of fighting that could  _ snap a man’s leg in half _ . He cringed as he watched Liam spit blood into the bucket by his feet, rinsing his mouth with water before standing up and walking back to the center of the ring.

The second round was similar to the first, with the two fighters trading blows back and forth. Zayn watched, his anxiety rising as the smaller fighter leapt to the side of Liam’s latest attack, spinning deftly and jumping onto Liam’s back. His arms and legs wrapped around Liam in a way that reminded Zayn of a backpack—if backpacks were covered in blood and sweat and were constantly trying to choke you into unconsciousness. Liam, though, quickly backed into the wall of the cage, effectively slamming the smaller man against the metal as he reached behind him and punched his opponent in the side of the head. The man tried to adjust, but Liam landed a solid blow to his ear and he relaxed enough for Liam to break free from the hold. He spun quickly in a flurry of fists to retaliate while the man was reeling, but the bell ended the round much to Niall’s chagrin.

“Ugh, he was so close to getting a knockout,” the blonde moaned as Zayn watched Liam’s coach press a silver piece of metal to his cheekbone. Seeing as he’d pulled it from a bucket of ice, Zayn figured it was to help with swelling. As the two fighters made their way back to the center of the mat, Zayn held out hope as he watched Liam’s opponent move a lot more sluggishly than he had at the start of the fight.

The man held back this time, playing more defensively as Liam sprang forward with punch after punch. Zayn’s breath caught in his throat as the smaller man fell back onto the mat, Liam following and continuing to hit the man’s head until the referee pulled him back. Niall’s cheers were drowned out by the crowd around them as Liam jogged to the edge of the mat, happiness at the win evident on his face. The blonde grabbed Zayn and Harry by the arms, pulling them forward so that they were pressed against cage next to Liam.

“Payno, that was  _ sick _ , mate! You fucking did it!” Liam grinned around the water bottle that his coach had shoved towards his mouth and brought a hand up to the cage. Niall and Harry each gave him a high five, but when Zayn moved to do the same, Liam’s fingers interlaced with his through the cage and squeezed tightly before the fighter was pulled back to the center of the ring. Everything started to pass by in a blur for Zayn as the fight was called and Niall pulled them back towards the locker rooms where Liam was getting patched up and examined by the medic. Before he knew it, the five men were standing out in the cool London air, Liam leaning heavily against the cement wall behind him.

“Thanks for coming out, guys. Means a lot, really.”

“I’m just happy to be home to be able to see them. I’m sure you’re exhausted, though, are you okay getting home? Lou and I were going to take a cab back to his, but we can share if you want.”

“That’s okay, that’s on the other side of town. I usually just take the tube since the station is right by my flat.”

“I’ll share that cab,” Niall piped up. “I’m on the way.”

They all looked over to Zayn who was toeing at the concrete with his boot, his fingertips nervously rubbing along the edge of the cigarette carton he’d pulled from his pocket.

“I’m near enough—I think I’ll just take the tube as well,” the artist muttered softly. “Make sure you don’t pass out from a concussion or anything, yeah?”

Liam blushed and smiled, though Harry still noticed he was carrying a lot of confidence from the fight. The singer jabbed a sharp elbow in both Louis’s and Niall’s side before either of them could get a teasing word in edgewise, before saying goodbye to the pair and dragging his boyfriend and best friend towards the waiting Uber that he’d called.

The walk towards the tube station was quiet between Liam and Zayn, but once they were seated in one of the moving cars, Zayn noticed the red and swollen knuckles on the fighter’s hand and brought it carefully into his lap.

“How are you not hurting right now,” he murmured, running his fingertips softly over the bruised skin.

“Adrenaline, mostly. Tomorrow’s going to be rough, but tonight I feel like I’m on top of the world.” Liam flipped his hand over so that his palm was pressed to Zayn’s, teasing the artist’s wrist with the tips of his fingers as the train jostled them in their seats.

“On top of the world? That’s not cheesy at all, Mr. Silva,” Zayn laughed.

“Silva? You’ve been studying,” Liam retorted, the tip of his tongue poking past his teeth a bit as he grinned at Zayn.

“Maybe I’m just well-versed in the world’s great MMA Boxers—Anderson Silva, GSP, Liam Payne—” he trailed off as he tucked his fingers in between the fighter’s, locking their hands together.

“I’m not one of the greats, Z. Not even close.”

“Close enough, according to Niall. Plus, I can honestly say that you’re the best MMA fighter I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, in all two of the fight nights you’ve been to,” Liam responded before softening his tone and tugging at Zayn’s hand. “Are you okay, though? Honestly, you looked a bit poorly. Had me nervous the whole match.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to distract you.” Zayn made to pull away from the fighter but Liam held firm.

“Hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m glad that you were there, I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Liam said. “Was it the broken leg? I heard people talking about it in the back after the fight.”

“That’s part of it. I just didn’t realize it was so violent. Like, I’d seen it before at a distance, but we were so close this time and all I could think about was you getting hurt. When that guy’s leg snapped—“ Zayn broke off, gripping Liam’s hand fiercely and bringing his other hand up to wrap around the fighter’s wrist. “What if that was  _ your _ leg? Or, Christ, your  _ neck _ ?”

Liam reached up with his free hand and gently brought Zayn’s chin up to meet his gaze, brushing away a loose strand of inky black hair that had fallen over his forehead.

“Z, I’m alright, I promise. I’m not going to lie and say I never get hurt, but things like that happening are so rare—”

“A freak accident, Harry said.” Zayn leaned his head heavily against Liam’s warm hand, blinking up at the boxer through his too-long eyelashes, at least, according to some of his clients who liked to remind him that they’d “kill” for lashes like his.

“Exactly. Fighting for me is, well, I guess ‘cathartic’ would be the best word? It’s not about pain or anger. I’m constantly training and pushing my body to be at its peak, and I feel so in tune with myself when I’m on the mat.” Liam’s hand tightened in Zayn’s while his other thumb rubbed carefully across the artist’s sharp cheekbone before dropping slightly to fiddle with the collar of the leather jacket that hugged his shoulders. “Every movement is critical. No matter how much we choreograph combinations, I’m still having to think on the fly and make split second decisions based on what’s coming towards me. Add in the adrenaline and it’s—I don’t know, Z. There’s nothing like it.”

“But how can you even think when you’re injured? I saw him hit your head. It was bad enough to make you bleed,” Zayn said, reaching up to gently touch the tail end of Liam’s eyebrow. The skin was split and an angry red, held together only by two small strips of white tape. 

“You push through the pain and focus. It’s like, you  _ have _ to or else you could end up seriously hurt.”

“That’s what scares me,” the artist murmured, soft enough that Liam almost missed the whispered words.

The boxer frowned as Zayn pulled away, putting a few inches of space between them as he untangled their hands. Liam could practically see the other man’s walls going back up just in time for the train to pull to a stop at his station. He stood, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder and pausing to look down at Zayn.

“Do you want to come over?” He was surprised by his own confidence, given that on an average day he struggled to even form coherent sentences around the artist. But between the lasting high he still felt from the fight and the way Zayn seemed to have lost his own sharp edge with his vulnerability that night, the invitation was flying out of Liam’s mouth before he could think about what they meant.

The artist looked up, his eyes locked on Liam as the last few bricks around his heart fell into place with the purse of his lips and the clench of his jaw. Liam knew what the answer would be before Zayn had a chance to speak.

“I should go.”

“Right,” Liam replied, hitching his bag a little higher as an oncoming passenger bumped into him with a softly muttered apology. “Another time, then.”

He nodded to himself, taking a small step backwards as Zayn’s expression hardened somewhere between regret and concern, with a mask of stubbornness to cover it. He turned and stepped onto the platform, hoping to hear the artist calling out for him to wait. Unfortunately, the only noise from behind him was the sound of the car’s doors sliding closed and the hiss of the brakes as the train began to pull forward into the dark, underground tunnels. 

As both boys struggled to comprehend what they were feeling, Louis and Harry were on the other side of London as their cab pulled up to Harry’s flat in Chelsea. After dropping Niall off, they’d spent the rest of the ride giggling in between kisses and laughing at Louis’s observation that they were acting like the couples he normally made fun of when he’d see them in public.

“I’m just saying, Haz, you may be irresistible but that doesn’t mean old Hector up here wants to see me trying to find your tonsils,” Louis said before pulling Harry back in for another kiss as Hector the cabbie cackled from the driver’s seat as he put the car in park.

“Then stop shoving your tongue down my throat,” Harry retorted, grinning against Louis’s lips.

The older man pulled the door open, settling the fare along with a generous tip for Hector, before helping Harry from the cab. The pop star pulled his phone out to turn it back on now that they were home, grimacing as it immediately started vibrating with missed calls, texts, and emails.

“How mad do you think JR is,” Harry asked as Louis held the door of the building open for his boyfriend. “I should probably call him back. It’ll only get worse if I wait until tomorrow.”

“That’s correct, Mr. Styles,” an agitated voice said from the couple’s left as JR stood from the couch where he’d presumably been waiting in the lobby. “And now that you’ve so  _ kindly _ spent your day ignoring my attempts to contact you, you’ve left me no choice but to bring this meeting to you. How considerate you’ve been of my time.”

Louis tightened his grip around Harry’s waist as he felt the pop star deflate under his manager’s hurtful gaze.

“It’s not his fault. We were spending time together, time with friends, and he didn’t need to be dealing with the shit you were going to throw at him again. Give him a break.”

“This doesn’t concern you, Mr. Tomlinson, if you’d like to excuse yourself.”

“I’ll leave that up to my boyfriend, as to whether or not he’d like me to leave  _ his _ flat.”

Harry looked between the two, quickly measuring his own want for Louis’s comforting presence versus the guaranteed fight that would happen if JR tried to discipline him in front of the protective artist.

“I’d like him to stay,” he said quietly. “It’s—he’s staying the night so I’m not going to send him away. Anything you have to say to me, you can say it in front of him.”

“Very well,” JR said, disgust rolling over his lips as his eyes narrowed at the scowling punk. “I suppose you’ll want to be saying goodbye tonight anyways.”

“Goodbye?” Louis practically growled as Harry tensed up against his side.

“I thought the LA branch said I could stay here,” the singer protested.

“You’re not going back to California, Mr. Styles, rest assured.” JR pointedly ignored Louis, refusing to make eye contact as he handed over a folder of paperwork to Harry. “After several meetings today, all of which you  _ unfortunately _ missed the opportunity to share your opinion during given your blatant disregard for communication, the label has decided it’s in everyone’s best interest if you took some time in the countryside to disconnect and focus on the new album. A writer’s retreat, so to speak. It’s a beautiful remote location—completely off the grid and very peaceful. Very inspiring.”

“Why can’t I just write the album here? London is inspiring,” Harry begged. He could see exactly what the label was trying to do by sending him away. He’d be away from his friends, away from Louis, away from the “trouble” he kept getting himself into.

“This isn’t up for discussion, Mr. Styles. You’re leaving tomorrow morning. There will be a car here at seven sharp, and we’ve already cleared your schedule. We’ll start with a month so that you may keep your attention on songwriting while we do some damage control for your image. The stunt you and your friends pulled with that podcast has put you, and your little  _ fling _ , in the spotlight and we need to bring the attention back to something less distasteful. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

As tears welled up in his eyes once again, Harry’s anger grew. He hated how easily the man could get under his skin and make him feel worthless, though the more he thought about it, the more trouble he had holding back the tears that were now spilling down his cheeks. Louis pulled Harry forward into a hug, tucking the taller man’s face into his neck as he ran a comforting hand up and down the singer’s spine.

“For someone who supposedly has Harry’s best interests in mind, you’re sure going out of your way to hurt him,” Louis shot towards JR as the man straightened his jacket and moved towards the door. “Hazza, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. They can’t force you.”

“That may be true, Mr. Thompson,” Louis scoffed at the man’s words knowing he was very aware of his correct surname, “but I’ve included copies of the clauses in Mr. Styles contract in that paperwork. You’re welcome to review it, but I believe you’ll find that we’re entirely within our rights to insist on this arrangement and failure to comply would leave Mr. Styles wide open for legal actions to be taken. I’m sure you’d agree that a nasty, drawn-out lawsuit would be in no one’s favor.” 

As he turned sharply, walking away from the couple without a spare glance, he called out behind him.

“Remember, seven sharp tomorrow morning, Mr. Styles. Be packed and ready, though I wouldn’t worry about bringing any of your electronics. You’ll be hard-pressed to find any reception or internet out there.”

Harry crumbled entirely into Louis’s hold, feeling the last few scraps of freedom he’d had being ripped away from him as the door swung shut behind his manager. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to leave everyone behind for a month with no way to contact them. He didn’t want the label speaking for him to his fans, molding his voice into something that it wasn’t. He didn’t want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere writing an album when everything that inspired him was waiting back in London.

With neither of them knowing what to say, Louis led the softly crying boy into the lift so they could spend one last night together.


End file.
